


What Hearts May Hold

by solitariusvirtus



Series: Uncanny Westeros (Otherworlds) [29]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Middle Ages, Power Struggle, Revenge Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2019-10-30 06:31:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 49,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17823668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: “We’ll pay you well. Come and have a drink with us.” He pulled her towards the small group and dig her heels in as she might, she was unable to halt his progress.“I am not,” she started loudly, interrupting the talk. All eyes were on her and she faltered. “I pray you, m’lord, let me go. I must return home.”“Look out for that one, Bran, my boy,” the raven haired man chuckled. “She plays the part of an innocent very well.”Hearts hold secrets, and no heart more so than that of Lyanna Stark, long ago forced into living a lie. She takes the opportunity given to her by the gods to finally have her revenge. The proud house of wolves will learn what it is to forsake all bonds of decency and kinship.AU! The winds of winter howl and the oncoming storm will devastate everything in its path.





	1. i - summer view

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introductory chapter

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lyanna shook the rough spun dress out, relieved to know it was the last of her tasks without. The morning had thus far been kind to her, the winds gentle. The beginning of summer filled the air with mellow heat, the smell of new grass and pale sunshine. She looked up at the fluffy clouds, smiling at the clear skies. But then the North had been known to host capricious weather. Lyanna merely hoped there would be no rain. She glanced down at the cloth still held in her hands. But before she could contemplate the tear she saw in it too deeply, the shuffling sounds behind her caught her attention, forcing her to turn around.

“Child, how many times must I tell you not to toil about in the sun?” Old Nan’s lined face stood atop her almost nonexistent neck, not that one could see much beneath the cloth holding her hair out of the way. The words weren’t so much meant to save her from intense labour, as they were a way of getting her out of view.

“I am almost finished.” Which was very true; one could only do so much sewing before standing one step away from sheer insanity due to a lack of fresh air. She secured the clothes upon the line before dusting her hands down the folds of her skirts, aware that she was never quite without the old woman’s attention.

She took a few moments in order to admire her work. Before long she would be locked away into the small hut, with only a basketful of garbs to mend. It was truly the worst part about it all, she told herself, pushing the slightly darker memories into the dusty corner wherein she hoped they would rot. They never seemed to fully die and she didn’t suppose she might slay them with any sort of success.

As all good things must end, so did her sojourn in the sun. Lyanna obediently followed Old Nan’s instruction, pressing her way past the woman into the small hut which served for her home. She looked about the commonly used chamber, at the small fire burning, one of the mercies provided by her so very benevolent sire. She looked away from it, wishing she might douse the flames, but Old Nan’s joints were creaky, her bones weakened by many winters and in need of warmth. She’d hate the man in her heart and curse him in her head; what did it matter that she took his charity? Acutely aware of the futility of wishing and praying for better, she took her seat farthest away from the fire, placing the first thing she found in the basket upon her lap.

It was a shirt, made of fine cloth, light and airy, embroidered along the hem and collar with great care and, doubtlessly, great love. Every stitch, every line had been put there by a hand Lyanna did not remember feeling stroke her hair. She supposed she had been too young to form the memories, the attachments that would sustain those recollections. She brushed her fingers over the tear in the sleeve.

It would serve its wearer right if she made the lines crooked. But she couldn’t. Instead she put herself through the exercise in patience that was helping Nan with her mending. Her bones were fragile, her sight was going dim and her fingers sometimes shook fiercely. It would be unkind to cause the woman trouble after all the years she had dedicated to Lyanna’s care. Thus she would do her part without complaint. So it was that she found herself working until the light coming from without dimmed and the pile clothing had been reduced to nothing. Nan had sewn less, but her work was still clean.            

Before she might go on to fold the results of their hard work, she’d need some sustenance. A good thing there was still a good half a pot of stew, left over from the cooking she had done the day before. “Come Nan, ‘tis growing late and I find my stomach grumbles.”

The old woman tutted gently, reminding her that she ought to phrase herself better. Lyanna did not care in particular. Nan would never allow her to forget her origins, but that needn’t stop her from conducting herself precisely as she desired. It would be her own small victory, Lyanna decided, shrugging the criticism off.

She laid out the table, clean wooden bowls and eating utensils ready for use. A carafe of watered wine stood at the ready as well, along with half a loaf of bread. It was as good a meal as anyone could hope for, especially after she’d warmed the stew to a pleasantly toasty state. And she would need every scrap of this meal if she was to go off gallivanting as soon as her minder was asleep.

While she preferred not to think of Nan in such a manner, Lyanna was not unaware of the woman’s role. She was both benevolent minder and assiduous gaoler where she was concerned, meant to keep her in relatively good health, but never allow her to wander too far off. Not that Lyanna hadn’t managed to escape. Nan was, after all, an aged crone who could barely traverse the length of the modest yard sitting before their hut, let alone chase her around should she decide to break into a sprint towards freedom.

It was not as though Lyanna harboured any such desires. Freedom meant she would have no helping hand. Better to at least fill her stomach every night than starve to death somewhere. It was might be the only kindness she’d been shown and to spurn it was folly. That and it suited her just well to be out and about when the sun no longer shone. It wasn’t that dangerous if one knew what parts of the settlement to keep away from. Once or twice, she had even caught a glimpse of her brothers. And what a sight that had been.

The eldest looked a lot like their sire, truth be told, excepting for the laugh lines absent on her brother’s face. He was yet too young for such lines to show upon his visage. Lyanna dug into her meal, her hearty appetite asserting itself even as silence reigned over the dwelling. That had been long ago though, years and years back. He’d not seen her and even if he had seen her there was little chance he would take any notice of her. After all, his sister was buried with his ancestors.

Following the evening meal, Nan settled in for sleep. The days when she stayed up long into the night were growing fewer and fewer between. That suited Lyanna as well. If she slept, it made sneaking away easier. Which tended to be the case with Nan. It was simply a matter of patience, virtue which Lyanna had cultivated in spades during her, admittedly, short lifetime.

With that in mind, she led the elder to the comfortable cot they’d shared for as long as Lyanna could remember and settled her in before making certain their house was in order for the night. She was careful to put the remaining food away after folding the clothes they’d mended. The dying fire had been carefully banked and the dishes left to soak. They would keep until she returned, Lyanna decided, climbing in next to Nan, turning her back to the woman. She arranged herself so as to better slip away with a minimum of disturbance to the other person sharing her cot.

It would not take long until she could have her nightly hours of exploration. In fact, within minutes, Nan was snoring away, her limbs relaxing in sleep, the usual pains of the day dissipating into the world of dreams. The snorts turned into sharp whistles for a brief span before returning to the heavier, grittier sounds.

Once she was certain her minder slept and was beyond waking, as Nan slept like the dead, Lyanna slipped out from beneath the furs insulating them against the cool night air and stretched out, bushing a hand over the fold of her skirts. While it did not much matter how she looked, there was still a sliver of pride within her which wouldn’t let her gallivant about in rumpled garb no matter how much the state of it was inconsequential. She thus saw to straightening herself out the best she could.

When satisfied with what she saw looking down, Lyanna turned to make certain all was in good standing. To her utter relief she saw that it was. She would not be out long, for Maester Walys could only afford so much time to spend on her and the poor fellow had been kinder than most would have been about it to begin with. She owed the man her life. The least she could do was keep their appointments and not cause him trouble. Thus bolstered, she wrapped an old cloak about her shoulders and set out to reach the small tavern where he would be waiting for her.

As agreed, the maester was seated at the small table jammed into the southmost corner of the establishment. Lyanna rushed past the other patrons, who knowing her destination never held her up. To them she was Nan’s grandniece; a girl taken in by a kind-hearted old woman. A girl who sometimes ran errands for her and who would from time to time pass word onto the big house about the state of the sweet old crone. It made sense that she would meet with the maester. And in such a public place, no one could quibble about the nature of their relationship too much, even if a young girl out and about at such an hour did not meet with everyone’s approval.

Lyanna sat down across from the man, offering a quiet greeting.  He looked up from the tome he’d been perusing and answered in his usual kind manner. “My lord hopes his old wetnurse is in good health,” he continued the thread of a familiar conversation.

“Of course, we have been so well provided for. And if old age has its say every now and again, m’lord should not worry. I am young and healthy and can look after Nan.” She accepted a carefully wrapped package from the man’s hands. Such gifts usually contained a few scrolls for her to read at leisure and return at a later time; she usually snuck them in the linen basket and trusted that the maester knew to look at it.

They exchanged further pleasantries, inconsequential talk and then some before his face tightened into a frown. “There are some guests, as you well know, at the keep. This may bring the lord’s sons out and about.” Of course it would; the Crown Prince had to be entertained. “My lord would keep to the known agreements. They are a bunch of rowdy young bloods; they would tire poor Old Nan out in the blink of an eye. Pray do not bring her to their attention.”

“Indeed. M’lord need not worry on our account.” Even if she did somehow appear before her kin, they wouldn’t recognise her. Brandon had been sent to the Reels and last seen her as a babe. Ned had spent a brief few years in her company and Benjen had been a babe himself. Rickard Stark worried too much. She resented that, as she resented the burden he’d placed on her shoulders.

“Good girl,” Walys Flowers offered, reaching out to pat her hand affectionately. She sometimes wondered if she would have had a kinder fate as his daughter rather than his master’s get. But that was mere mist unable to hold weight. “Now how’s about I tell you something or another of what has been going on in our lives.” She agreed to that with a grin. She might not be allowed to set foot in Winterfell, but it was nice just the same to know tales of the keep.

He spoke at lengths about the Prince and his companions, about how he was much changed since he’d last visited with them. Lyanna had seen him then as well. It had been a particularly warm summer, as though to accommodate for weaker Southron blood. She’d been gathering flowers and had been carrying a broad clump of them to Nan when she’d spotted a Kingsguard. Enthralled she’d stopped to look in wonder at the royal siblings mingling with her own.

The Princess, Shaena, who had later married her eldest brother, had taken notice of her. Or rather of her flowers and broke from the group. Lyanna could still remember the covetous look on the girl’s face as she’d asked about the origin of the flowers and where it was Lyanna was taking them. She’d answered that she’d picked them from beyond the village limits and meant to gift them to her grandmother, the way in which she always referred to Nan before strangers.     

It had been her eldest brother who followed Princess Shaena, reaching her just in time to her the girl ask for a few flowers in exchange for one of her ribbons. And a pretty ribbon it was, lines with silver thread and patterned with small red flowers. It was doubtlessly a costly thing, nothing like she would ever have for herself. It did not feel right to accept such a bargain, thus she’d said in a voice which only held a faint whiff of regret that she would instead give to the girl whatever flowers she chose as a gift.

That had delighted the Princess. Alas, she was unable to make her choice and thus enlisted her eldest brother’s help as soon as she took notice of him. Tall and somewhat stern by way of features, the Crown Prince had been nonetheless kind, picking a few of the more common flowers in her bouquet and leaving a single red bloom, one his sister had been eying with obvious desire, alone. Lyanna had liked that one best as well, and her heart had trembled waiting to see if it would be picked or not.

He passed the flowers into his sister’s hands. “Offer her your gratitude, Shaena.” That the girl did with only a little bit of disappointment; the smile on her face, however, indicated she was accepting of the outcome. Turning his attention back to her, the Crown Prince had even asked after her name. She’d responded simply that she was called Lya. Lya suited a girl from up North better than the more refined Lyanna; Lya was a proper name for a girl of the smallfolk.

“Lya,” he’d tested the name. ”I will remember your kindness.” And she would remember his. In spite of not knowing the man well, and the many years intervening, she’d been saddened to hear that his wife had died. Princess Shaena had seemed a sweet girl in her own right and doubtlessly her demise affected him greatly. She’d scurried off after that, fearful that someone from the keep would drive her away otherwise. Children of the keep’s servants might well be allowed to have a game or two with the lord’s get; she had to remember though that she was not even the child of a current servant.

That had been the first and last she saw of the royal family, of Rhaegar and his Shaena. It was a good memory. She turned her attention back to the maester, offering sympathy for the Crown Prince’s melancholy. “Done in by an ague, the poor thing,” Maester Walys lamented the fate of the Princess. “And no child to show for their brief marriage either.”

She supposed the man would have to wed again. Might be Lady Cersei of House Lannister, a reputed beauty. Or might be he would choose another lady, one known for her kind and caring character. He struck her as a sensible man from what the maester spoke of him. He felt the loss of his sister most keenly and that spoke in his favour. “How come he has ventured North then, good maester. Ought he not be looking for a bride?”

“Too soon for that, my dear. The man has no desire to seek another wife just yet.” She mulled that bit of information over.

“The North is remote enough that his journey should be long. And he shall visit with his kin at the Wall for added measure,” she predicted after a moment. It was a clever trick. Harmless, but speaking volumes. He truly was a sensible man.

“What a clever girl you are.” He hailed down one of the serving wenches asking for some sweet ale. “Your best brew, mind. And two cups of it. Hurry then.” The girl nodded her head and hurried off. It was a sign that their meeting was drawing to a close. He always bought her a steaming cup of ale to see her pleasantly warm of her way home. How could she not like the man better than she did the other who’d abandoned her without remorse?

It took a bit, in spite of the maester’s words, for the ale to be served. They drank the cups in companionable silence, all subjects exhausted for the time being. The liquid slid down her throat, a pleasant burn in its wake. It settled into the pit of her stomach, sweetness exploding inside her mouth. She wiped at her lips with the back of her hand, driving the moisture away. It crossed her mind to drink slower, so as to prolong his stay, but she knew he must be tired and would need his sleep for the journey back to the keep on the morrow. Thus she drained the last of her cup and raised to her feet, thanking the maester for his time and biding him a good night’s rest. He did the same, as per custom, and she saw herself out into the still somewhat cold night’s air.

And that was where her troubles started. She heard the telltale sound of hooves pounding the earth before she saw the riders. It was not always easy to make out shapes in the dark. Flinching back at the people emerging from the sea of blackness, she froze in her spot, one hand brought up to her heart, fist resting again one breast.

It did not take much to place these men. Two were her brothers, one was the Crown Prince and the other she supposed was his companion. A fellow with a headful of dark curls and clear, light eyes. She thought they might be blue. It was difficult to tell in the dim light. Another man arrived but a moment later, similar in looks to the Crown Prince.

It was Brandon who noticed her first, breaking from his conversation to look her over after he’d dismounted and a couple of servants from the stables rushed to take the reins of the horses. The dark haired man whom she did not know saw her as well, a smile curling his lips in an almost pleasant look, were it not for the way his eyes roamed over her.  Drawing herself inward with some effort she managed to step out of their way, prepared to draw up the hood of her cloak and make her escape. The other men had returned to their conversation.

But Brandon was faster and caught her by the arm. “You must be one of the new girls.” One needn’t be the sharpest to take the meaning of his words. Her tongue, thick in her mouth, struggled with the words to put an end to the indignity. Lyanna had always thought that she would meet any sort of danger with a ready retort and steady arm. She trembled in her boots, feebly tugging her arm in hopes of freeing it from his grip.

“Not I,” she spoke, aware that her voice squeaked. He must have taken it for an attempt to further engage him as he laughed.

“We’ll pay you well. Come and have a drink with us.” He pulled her towards the small group and dig her heels in as she might, she was unable to halt his progress.

“I am not,” she started loudly, interrupting the talk. All eyes were on her and she faltered. “I pray you, m’lord, let me go. I must return home.”

“Look out for that one, Bran, my boy,” the raven haired man chuckled. “She plays the part of an innocent very well.”

She looked from Brandon’s face sporting a wolfish grin to the man’s who’d spoken, then to Ned’s bewildered expression. Couldn’t he see she was dressed as a lowly village girl and not as a pillow girl set on entertaining men?

“Please, m’lord, my grandmother will be frightened if she wakes to find me gone,” she tried again, hoping her words might reach them, any of them. It turned out that it was much harder to face against bigger and stronger enemies than she had anticipated when handicapped by their lack of knowledge.

Brandon caught her jaw between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look into his face. “Your mumming skill does you credit, girl. But enough of that.” He pulled her into his side, turning a snide grin onto the other man who’d spoken. “You’ll not have this one, Robert. At least not until I’ve had my fill.”

Her stomach turned and she somehow found the strength to push him away. She’d pushed so hard that he lost his balance, for a moment seeming like he might topple over. He caught himself with a low growl, a sound she almost didn’t catch over her own shouting. “Can’t you understand I am no whore?” She pointed away from herself. “That way is the brothel, m’lord. Pray choose one of those girls.”    

In her fuming, she’d neglected to put some distance between them and never did expect him to retaliate to her righteous behaviour. His hand rose as if to bring down a blow upon her and he might have gone through with it if another did not interrupt. She heard only a name, “Arthur,” before she saw the last of the men to arrive push forth and grab her brother’s arm, twisting it behind his back.

“The girl says she’s not a whore. Let her go.” His voice had changed. Though his character had not. She held back the urge to look to him with gratitude. His words did not necessarily mean he did not consider her a whore. It could simply mean he was one of those men who cared whether his partner showed willingness or not.

“Not a whore my arse. What decent woman gallivants about at this hour?” The man holding him, Arthur, relaxed his grip enough that Brandon managed to pull out of the hold.

This couldn’t go on. “You!” she growled back at him, her irritation spiking. “You are Lord Stark’s son, are you not? Does m’lord approve of his son molesting the people under his care?” It hadn’t been the cleverest thing to say, for Brandon was just as quick to anger as she was.

Before the situation might further devolve, a man rushed from within the tavern, two hands gripping Lyanna’s shoulder. “Master Brandon, pray ignore this girl's foolish tongue and let her be on her way.” Good Maester Walys, one could count on him when in need.

Except that her brother seemed unwilling to let the matter go. “Wayls, I am a man. I understand one feels inclined to a proprietary view even where pillow girls are concerned, but do not put stock by whores. They sell their wares to any man with coin to buy them. And this little baggage right here will learn that lesson.”

“I am not a whore,” she repeated herself, tears of frustration gathering in the corners of her eyes.

“Your Grace, sers,” Walys began after hushing her, “there seems to have been a misunderstanding. This girl is no whore. She is here at my request.” He had a plan; Maester Walys tended to get longwinded when he wished to implement something. Lyanna opened her ears despite of her panic. “Much as it shames me to admit, Lya here is my daughter and no manner of pillow girl.” A stunned silence gripped their collective number. Lyanna straightened herself. From a poor relation to a bastard daughter, she supposed it wasn’t much of a fall. Walys continued, “Lord Stark was kind enough to allow her to be raised nearby. I ask that you follow your father’s wish in this and not seek to harm the girl any further.” The words were spoken in a humble tone, as though Brandon had any right to her to begin with.

“We are most regretful for this error,” that was the Prince again. Lyanna thought she saw a flicker of something in his face when she looked. “Pray, Maester Walys, allow Ser Arthur to walk your daughter to her home. Upon my word, no harm will come to her.” It was a generous offer. Much too generous to be refused. Lyanna was not surprised to hear the man behind her accept. “Arthur, get her home safely and return here once you are done.”

But too many words had been spoken for her to ever make her way home safely. Lyanna knew it, her gut squeezing with the knowledge. Maester Walys must have known it too by the way his fingers dug into her shoulders, the grip turning loose reluctantly. Ser Arthur stepped forth nonetheless, inclining his head.

And walk her home he did, in silence, with a sure step and attentive eyes. The light flickering in the window when they arrived was more than enough proof that word had spread, and the gods only knew how the story had been mangled in the process. A bastard daughter turned whore, an ungrateful grabbing girl attempting to reach for more than she’d already been given. She shuddered at the thought as she bade the knight a good night and talked herself into stepping within the small yard before the home.

The door was flung open and a weeping woman wailed at her. “You naughty child, what have you done now?” Nan waddled her way without, her tongue wagging with invectives. Most were not directed at her. A small, paltry bit of balm. She cringed when the aged hand took hers, decrying the cruelty of fate.

A lowborn girl could never turn against her master’s son, not without heaping even more shame upon herself. There would be no repercussion for Brandon, though he had branded her a whore in the hearing of many, though he had ruined her to the extent to which it was possible to ruin someone without touching them. She glanced down at the tops of her shoes, more to hide her own tears than for shame. Nan led her into the house.

She gave Lyanna bread and watered wine. “There, there, my sweet babe. Do not trouble yourself over the matter. I shall seek an audience with m’lord and clear the whole mess.”

“They’ll never believe I am innocent of wrongdoing,” she burst out into true tears, saltwater streaming down her cheeks, her nose stuffed and leaking. She could feel the heat warming her cheeks, knew her face to be red. She cried on. “All of them; they all heard him.”

Lyanna had never had hopes of a grand life. She had no dowry, no family and not much to offer other than her own person. The prospects for her were few, but even so there had been some. How many of those men would be willing to take a chance on her with rumours of an affair behind her. Virtually none, and no amount of the lord berating his son would change that.

Might be she should have allowed Brandon his way. She ought to have told him after the whole sordid truth; how he’d taken his own sister, a sister that his father had ruthlessly disposed of as soon as he thought her inconvenient. The only curse on House Stark was its careless men and the cruel way they stepped on those around them. “Why did he allow me to live if he meant to push me into the mud at every opportunity?”

Nan did her best to comfort her, but no amount of soothing eased her pain. She exhausted herself into an uneasy sleep, slumbering for some hours until she woke with an aching head to light streaming in from without. Her eyes itched slightly, sign that she’d cried too long. She rubbed the sleep and discomfort away, looking at the sunlight. She did not want to face the day, the townspeople whispering about her, the brave few to came to gawk at her and impart empty commiseration, or the ones who came to point and jeer.

But she couldn’t stay as she was. Lyanna left the cot with sluggish movements. She did not wish for food, nor company, but there were chores to be done. Irrespective of her folly in staying instead of running away as soon as she heard approaching riders, Nan could not be expected to exhaust herself into an early grave.

Tying on a somewhat worn apron, Lyanna set to tidying up the bread and wine on the table. She looked at the small fire coaxed into little flames, knowing there was little more to do within, so out she went, half expecting to find people at the fence, waiting with ugly grins upon their faces for her to emerge.

Surprisingly, however, there was no one there. No one but Nan, sitting upon a rickety wooden bench. She looked up from her work. “You are awake. Good, come sit by me.” She patted the free space at her side. Lyanna followed the instructions without a word. “There is someone who wishes to speak to you. I dared not refuse outright. But you may if you wish.”

Just then, the gate swivelled on its hinges and a young boy appeared a large basket on chopped wood with him. He looked from one of them to the other. “May I bring His Grace an answer then?”

Realisation hit her. “Tell him I am willing.” There was nothing to consider. The man was the Crown Prince and if he wished words, she could not deny him. Might be not all was lost. Might be he could be persuaded to show some kindness to Nan. Give her a girl to look after her in her old age. Lyanna knew she could not stay and be a burden on the old woman.

His Grace must have been close by for he arrived before long, entering the small yard with every confidence afforded to him. In the low light of torches she’d been unable to make out the more impressive of his features. Aye, he was tall and slim and altogether handsome of face. But it was those eyes, shining with an eerie cold light which held her arrested even as she fumbled her way through a curtsy. She dared not hold his gaze long.

Much in the way of a man accustomed to getting his own way, he hooked a finger beneath her chin. “If anyone should be looking away in shame, it is I, not you.” She gasped and hurried to contradict him. Brandon had been a boor, and Robert just as bad and might be he could shoulder some blame for not putting an end to their antics, but shame was taking it too far. She ought not to have spoken the words aloud, but it was too late to take them back by the time she’d realised what she had done.

“A perfectly reasonable response. I should have stepped in. There is no excuse I can offer and now must further push upon your good grace to allow me to speak of some unpleasant outcomes.” He did not pull any punches when laying out the extent of the damage done to her. In spite of Maester Walys’ best attempts, the scuffle had attracted enough attention that a rumour swirled before they’d any time to scotch the whole matter. Brandon and Robert had stoked the fires further by placing bets on whom could convince her to bend first and in spite of remonstrations would not be persuaded to give up the scheme. “This must be unpleasant to hear, but I thought you ought to know. I owe you after all.”

Something tugged at her memory. “It was merely a clump of flowers, Your Grace. I thank you for the consideration you have shown.”

“Not for that.” She jumped in surprise to hear him speak, to witness the extent of his own recollections. “Although I suppose I do owe you some manner of gift.”

“You do?” She looked him in the eyes. He held her gaze.

“Have you something in mind?” She thought he seemed to close off a little bit more after that, but brushed it off. She had to ask.

“I know it is much to ask,” she began, gathering her courage, “but might Your Grace find a girl willing to come and care for my grandmother? There are no children at the keep for her to care for and no family left to care for her. I was all she had.” She’d said too much, she knew, but felt he might show the same consideration towards the woman as she had towards a young girl so long ago and he did now towards a woman so far beneath his notice.

The ice thawed in his gaze. “You mean to leave.”

“I would make life difficult for her if I insisted on staying. And she wouldn’t cast me out.” Lyanna bit her lower lip.

“Where will go?” A shrug was her first response. There were only so many options left open to her.

“I suppose I might try returning further North, or might be I shall make for White Harbor.” Most likely she would be forced into the exact position of which she had been wrongfully accused. She hoped the Crown Prince would not guess as much. She saw him nod and a knot eased in her chest,

“I see you have the situation well in hand. Will you nevertheless hear out my proposal before you make your decision?” Her face flamed. How could she have imagined he would not know? A small nod was his answer. “Sit,” he told her, pressing her gently towards the bench. He remained standing.

Lyanna could not look into his face and he did not force her to. “You may have heard I am a widower.” He was not expecting an answer out of her, thus continued without pause. “I find it is a lonely existence and would have some company.”

“Have you considered seeking another wife?” In another life, she might have been that prospective bride. Lyanna, not Lya.

“I cannot at the moment consider such a commitment.” She was being offered yet another costly ribbon as if it were nothing. Why did men not understand the bruising effect of such propositions. “I do wish for company, however. If you consent, I will make certain you are maintained in health and condition for as long as you live. You may bring Nan with you, or settle her in a place of your choosing.”

Her teeth dug into her freshly bruised lower lip. “In spite of the harsh words dealt me, I am no whore. I know that.” It ought to be enough. But it wouldn’t be. It wasn’t. Public opinion had been formed.

“You may refuse. I would not force you for the world.” She wanted to weep again. In spite of his kindness, in spite of the good intentions behind his offer, she felt the words cut into her flesh as surely as though he’d stabbed her. But that was her lot in life, she supposed, to be judged by the lies she was forced to live.

“What if Lord Stark’s son attempts to force my hand when I am a fallen woman indeed?” She asked it only to needle him, to force him to look at the matter from her perspective.

He sat down heavily. She heard his rather long sigh. “I cannot imagine how it galls an honest woman to be forced into such a position. But I do not have the power to change people’s minds and am also powerless to protect you once I am gone from this place.” So that was why no one had shown up to jeer. “I can promise you a relationship based on respect and, hopefully, in time, mutual affection. I will provide for you and keep you safe. A better man might do all this without expecting some manner of return. But in some ways, I am no better than those two. I am simply the more powerful.”

He wasn’t feeding her Essosi coin. That was good she supposed. Better to know where she stood before shaking hands on a deal. “And when you wed again?”

“I shall find you a permanent spouse of your own, if you wish. Or I will continue to provide for you as before. The choice will be yours.” It sounded too good to be true.

“What if you should tire of me before then?” Men might change their minds as it pleased them.

“That would not alter your options. We will do as you wish.” But what if she should fall in love with him, she wanted to ask, knowing it was a foolish question. He could no more control her heart than he could change people’s minds. It was a generous offer, a decent enough offer considering her other options and it would be utter folly to refuse.

And yet she wanted to. Her heart and mind rebelled at the mere notion on being someone’s mistress. She, whose blood was just as noble as his in spite of her circumstances, had been so low brought that even such an indignity was a manner of blessing. Her fingers clenched into the folds of her skirts and apron. Very well then, she would be his mistress and do all that pleased him. And as he used her, she would use him.

He was powerful, his own words; she sought power. It would be her sword and shield, and Brandon Stark would rue the day when he had crossed her path. Swallowing the tight knot in her throat away, she lowered herself as she’d been doing for years. Another inch of mud wouldn’t make a difference, she told herself.

“Let us do as you say, Your Grace. I shall keep you company for as long as you will have me.” It felt as though her chest might cave under the pressure. She barely heard his answer over the furious beating of her heart.

“And I shall hold you only as long as you wish it.” He reached out for her hand tentatively. Lyanna mirrored his gesture, signalling her consent. His hand was warm. His eyes did not seem as cold as before when she looked.

He held her hand for the longest time, taking no more from her. And then it was time to speak again. “I will have you and your grandmother brought to the keep then.”

Her insides clenched. “Anything but that.” He attempted to explain there would be no danger to her, ignorant of the true reason for her refusal. It was too lowering. Much too sordid. When she claimed Winterfell for her own, she would do it as a triumphant conqueror. She refused to return within those walls on borrowed power. “I am begging you, Your Grace, do not force me to it.” He abhorred such methods, after all.

“Very well then. I shall settle you at the inn then. There will be certain items you will need before we return to Dragonstone.” She brushed away the meaning of his words. There would be finer dresses than the ones she had, Lyanna supposed, and might be some trinkets. Those did not matter to her.

“Dragonstone?” she questioned upon a shivery breath. “May Nan come as well?”

“My keep,” he said by way of explanation. “We would not offend anyone. And I would not have you far from me. Aye; I promised you as much.”

She nodded her acceptance, squeezing his hand. Lyanna could not help but wonder what manner of lover he would be. She did her best not to flinch when she felt his fingers play along her temple with a few loose strands of hair. The braid she’d been sporting must look a mess. Her curious nature and need for affection pushed her to lean into his touch. He seemed to take it as some manner of answer for the next she knew, his warm breath spilled against her lips.

She thought the invasion would scare her, repulse her even on account of the understanding it sealed. But his lips were gentle, coaxing hers rather than demanding. The hand those mischievous fingers were attached to went to cup the side of her face before migrating to the back of her skull, guiding her to a better position. The pressure increased for just a moment before he pulled away, thumb rubbing a spot at the back of her neck.

Fire flashed in his gaze before it was tempered by something very like steely control. “I will see to it that all is prepared. When your rooms are in readiness, I shall have Arthur come for you. He is–“

“The one who walked me home.” He pulled his hands away from her person, standing up. He blocked out the sun.

“A knight of the Kingsguard and a good friend, Arthur Dayne.” She had suspected as much when he’d addressed the man by name. “He will let no harm befall you.”

“Thank you.” It was a paltry few words to express all that she felt. They sounded wrong too.

“Not at all. I am the grateful one.” Would it be so wrong to allow herself to believe, just for a moment, that some affection could spring to life between them? “I look forward to our time together, Lya.”

Lyanna saw him off, her mind whirling with all the information she had to impart upon Nan.       

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drama, drama and more drama, because why not. I have nothing better to do.
> 
> Mature for now, may veer into Explicit. I don't plan for this to be very long. Maybe 5 chapters or so.


	2. ii - piridian velleities

 

 

 

 

 

 

The look upon Arthur’s face lingered long after they’d left the small yard, a strip of land, barely wide enough to fit a bench, not deserving of such designation as far as he was concerned. It did not matter, he supposed, the way Lya had lived up until that point. “If you want to say something, just say it,” he encouraged. Arthur rarely needed more than that to proceed.

“Aren’t you at all afraid?” He faltered for a moment. Enough that his pace broke noticeably. A brief memory broke across his vision before fading as his friend’s words surfaced from somewhere behind him. “Aren’t you the least bit ashamed?” He glanced at the man, calculating the power of his answer before he threw the words out in the open.

“I am not you, Arthur. I do not plan to live a life of regrets of my own making.” In his mind’s eye he saw the tightly bundled sheets dripping blood all over the hardwood floor. His friend of many years was a lot of things, not the least of which was a man regretting the path he had set himself upon. “I don’t need to fear anything.”

“There is a heaven above us, Your Grace.” The reminder left him unfazed. “You cannot do just as you please.”

He thought about Lya, with her red-rimmed eyes and pale cheeks; he thought about the way she'd bent to his will, wondering ever so briefly at the twinge of disappointment. Had he wanted her to fight him more on the matter? “Of course I can. As for the heavens, what do they matter?” He waved a hand at the scenery around them. “Does this look like the kingdom of the gods to you?” Arthur had no response. “Gods,” he said dismissively, “needn’t concern us.”

“You might have offered her a place in your home without asking for anything in return.” That was true, but as he’d made clear before he did not mean to live his life in the same swamp of regrets his friend inhabited. “Don’t you know what will happen to her if you decide to go back on your word?”

“I do not want her in Brandon Stark’s path. I do not want Robert’s eyes on her. And I do not want her too far from me.” A soft sigh left his lips as silence greeted his response. “Would it have been better to make her a servant? A servant who would have no say should any guest in my home decide to have his way with her?”

“As far as I know, no servant in your home has been molested in such a manner since the time you’ve had the keep in hand. If you say you will not stand for it, that ought to be enough.” In a perfect world might be. Arthur was being naïve; but he could sense it was a move born out of concern and might be a desire to protect.

Gritting his teeth against the wave of annoyance, Rhaegar settled his features into a mask of neutrality. “If a lord neglects his servants, they might be taken advantage of. If a lord shows too much interest, rumours of illicit affairs spread. Since I doubt I could possibly be indifferent to Lya’s plight and rumours are bound to spread in any event, I might as well offer her a better alternative than having naught to show for it.”

“You think that just because she is of lower status a few trinkets will be enough to make up for whatever else she’ll have to endure?” He didn’t precisely mean it in the sense of the woman enduring anything at his hands. All the same, he bristled. “If you cut her, she bleeds the same way we do.”

“I cannot control what people say or how she feels about it. In any event, she may leave whenever she so wishes.” That was not exactly true. While Rhaegar had no taste for forcing any woman into his bed, he wasn’t above using his best methods of persuasion to keep something he wanted by him. “As for pain, I am my father’s son, aren’t I. No one would think too much of it if I kept her safe in an ivory tower.”      

“That girl might have married a man willing to give her better than that.” They’d both halted in the middle of the woodland path, facing each other. “Someone willing to put her above all others. Give her some coin if you truly wish to help her; a dowry would not be amiss.”

The song of some hidden bird thrilled, striking through the silence falling between them. Since he’d already made up his mind and had no desire to part from the girl, he did the only thing he could do in such a situation. A pity, for he normally did not enjoy punching down. “You mean, like you did for your lady?”

The chirping stopped abruptly. A twig snapped beneath the pressure exerted by a firm step. Rhaegar was prepared for a variety of reactions. His friend’s lady was a subject one did not broach unless desiring to be at the tender mercies of Arthur’s ire. He deliberately cocked his head to the side, throwing his companion a daring look. She was a sore tooth being probed mercilessly at in that moment; a dark, well-kept secret, not so much for the nature of the bond, as for the pain is caused by its inevitable endurance even stretching out across endless miles.

“Just like that,” Arthur finally said. They stared at one another, neither willing to back down.

“What good are such actions? In the end not only have you made yourself unhappy, but she too suffers. Or would you rather not acknowledge that?” There were times when he didn’t quite know why he’d offered Arthur an easy way out. He shouldn’t have. “As long as there is mutual consent, I do not plan to let go of what is mine. I tell you again, I refuse to live in that manner.”

“What of honour and duty then? What of the needs of your land?” That point was not so easily dismissed. It was also the one hook which could pierce his flesh and make him bleed uncertainty. Not in so much as his plans for Lya, of course; but he knew that his reprieve would end sooner or later and he would need to find a suitable lady to rule at his side. “Will that not interfere with her willingness?”

He smiled then. Ever engaging the problems with his heart, Arthur was. “You are too soft.” The grin faded. “The Crown Prince will do his part; have no fear. I am not the first man to keep a mistress.” He would not be the last either. “Honour and duty are empty words; you should know.”

“Sometimes even cold comfort is comfort.” Spoken like a man without the least bit of an idea what it was to have comfort. Might be he should press further, hit harder. But in the end he couldn’t. There were some lines that should not be crossed under any circumstances. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I do.” But he still did not think he could subject himself to the rigours of cold comfort. He thought about the many admiring gazes aimed his way, of the gratitude he’s seen in Lya’s face and the way she had held onto him. As though he were a saviour. He couldn’t live with cold comfort any longer. He needs someone of his own choosing. “But I am still not letting her go. Take it as you will, my friend, but this time, I’m the one who has the final say.”

Somewhere up ahead the wind rustled through clusters of leaves. “Tell me this at least,” Arthur demanded, “would any woman do?” The man had sisters. He’d never considered other siblings to be even remotely similar to his own; he expected he couldn’t do any differently given they were Targaryens. But if anyone had suggested his sister, a woman, was the same as any other female, he would have certainly taken it in a bad way.

“Nay.” The more he thought about it, the stronger his feelings on the matter. It was true there was no strong bond between himself and Lya as of yet, but he couldn’t see anyone else in her place. “I won’t pretend that I understand why it has to be her, but it does.” It was not the same sort of resolve which had carried him through his match with Shaena. It was not so very different either. He couldn’t put it into words, except that it existed. Might be that was enough.

From somewhere deep within the knight’s chest a shuddering sigh emerged. “Sooner or later one of you will realise the precarious ground you stand on.” Anticipating the end, Rhaegar had the sinking feeling that Arthur had the right of it. In spite of all that he had witnessed, he was not fool enough to imagine Lya had simply settled on being his mistress for the remainder of her years. There was no satisfactory answer he could possibly give. As if sensing unwillingness to engage any further on his part, Arthur changed tack. “This will cause quite an uproar in any event. The gods-fearing, dutiful son returns home with a mistress.” He chuckled. “I can already hear the fuss over it.”

Rhaegar had never aimed at being considered anything like gods-fearing or dutiful. He simply declined to make all his thoughts known to begin with, and that led to assumptions; most of them positive thus far. “So there will be. I will take her to King’s Landing after a time. That ought to prove even more entertaining.”

“There is little doubt in my mind.” He began walking once more, hearing Arthur fall into step beside him. His friend went on, “But what of the other dangers lurking about King’s Landing.

“I have you to guard against that.” Which was true to some degree, although Rhaegar was aware ‘twas not what Arthur had meant by those words. Still, his companion was nodding, might be wary of another confrontation. Rhaegar would never have Arthur skill with a sword, but fine a warrior as his friend was, there were always vulnerabilities outside his area of expertise that he could use against the man. And that he was a master at.

“Speaking of guarding against danger, I hear Lord Stark was very cross with those sons of his.” The servants loved a good piece of mummery and Brandon Stark had offered them the perfect entertainment. Of course the good Lord Stark had been upset. It would not surprise Rhaegar if he disciplines his boys harshly. In fact, he was all for it.

He paused in order to better examine the sudden thought. It wasn’t so much for Lya’s sake, he realised after a moment of confusion. He didn’t, after all, feel that strongly about her. He couldn’t. It was for his. Turning the notion over and over in his mind, Rhaegar looked to the trees about them. He would need to find out who she truly was as well. That yarn the maester had told to them did not ring true, although he supposed it might well be. And the other stories he’d heard in the short time he’d concerned himself with that matter were dubious as well. That old woman, Nan, had had a sister. But the sister had gone up further North young and by all accounts had died mere years later. It was not impossible that she’d have had a daughter who had a child of her own, yet why had the old woman waited so many years before collecting the girl. It made little sense; too little for her to truly be the woman’s kin. Although he supposed Lya believed as much by the way she insisted to have the crone with her. How much pressure would break a frail old biddy, he wondered; and how much would gain him answers?

The horses where with the squire he’d left them with. The youth, no older than Lord Stark’s middle son had waited for them with a good amount of patience. He’d have to remember this one. Might be put in a good word in the future. For the time being, he climbed atop his steed, jabbing his heels in the creature’s flanks as soon as the boy’s formed moved away enough that he’d be in no danger of being trampled over. Arthur followed suit, a fine cloud of dust rising behind them.

Winterfell awaited, the gates open in welcome. Rhaegar had little to do but return to his chambers and sent his servants on errands. Much as he wished he’d have brought the girl with him and might be take a few precious moments out of their time together to taunt Brandon with the loss, he hadn’t. Theirs was an understanding too new to withstand that.

He’d woken slept not a wink the other night, much too concerned with his own plans. He found that his most important tasks now done left him somewhat exhausted. Knowing he would be alerted as to when his word had been carried out satisfactorily, he allowed himself the luxury of rest, sleep creping upon him and dragging him down into its pit of eternal darkness.

Dreams came as well. Some of them brought to mind distant memories, others attempted to peer into the future. He did not put much stock by any of these fabrications of his mind, thus when he awoke to a dipping sun with its warm tendrils loosening their grip on the sills and fading rapidly, he simply shook the last of sleep away, rubbing his eyes with some care.

A knock on his bedchamber door later and he was facing one of the other squires, letting him know that all was in order and the innkeeper had done precisely what he’d been paid to do. “And Arthur?” he questioned after a heartbeat’s length of silence.

“Ser Dayne has left while you were still sleeping, Your Grace. By now he should be returning as well.” Except that the Kingsguard took his time about it, a thing he rarely did. And when he finally appeared, it was with a grim look upon his face. Rhaegar asked after his troubles.

“Do you think it wise to go to her now?” his friend questioned. “The dust has not even settled on the whole matter. If you leave your hosts’ home in such fashion, what will be said?” He did not particularly care about that. But then, the entire farce had been enacted in order to buy him time. He gazed at Arthur in silence, waiting for him to continue. “It will reach your father’s ears in any even before you have even returned.”

Had Shaena been alive, he might have worried over such an outcome. “She does not wish to stay under Lord Stark’s roof. And if she will not, then I feel that I too must away. In any case, we have rested enough in the man’s home. It would be better to be on our way. Two days hence, then.”

“On the morrow will not do?” The confusion shouldn’t have been half as amusing as it was proving. He sometimes forgot that Arthur was in many ways much too tied up in his own grief to mind the plans of others.

“Only if I were a callous beast, my friend. That girl will need her rest.” Realisation came along with a hearty flush and a loud curse. He laughed, unable to help himself. But that was no time for distractions. He had everything he needed for the time being and was more than ready to make for the inn.

His departure met no outright objection from his host, albeit he could see something dark in the man’s gaze as he had his horse prepared. Still, whatever bothered the Wolf, it did not reach his lips and thus remained unspoken. And Rhaegar rode away, pushing the hulking beast beneath him to great speed until its coat was damp with sweat and its breath ragged. Hooves pounded the ground as they drew to a halt, stabbing at the earth in an almost celebratory dance.

There were few guests at the inn and fewer even with need of a stable. The stablehands, however, met his arrival promptly, coaxing the horse away with promises of a good brushing down and some warm oates. That left him free to seek out the chamber which the innkeeper had put Lya in.

He found it with ease, the most private of the chambers available. It was not great in size, nor anywhere near as fine as the chambers in Lord Stark’s home. But it had a bed, upon which he found Lya sitting, comb in hand, and it had its own charm. She smiled her greeting, looking somewhat startled to see him.

“There is no need to rise,” he spoke, pushing her back down gently just as she’d begun doing so. She breathed in evenly, her strokes falling somewhat short of the same gaol. Without another word, he plucked the comb from between her fingers and turned her so she faced the open window. He did not begin combing straight away, opting instead to pick up a thick strand of hair. The threads slipped from his hold, thinning the piece more and more. He liked the feel of it, and more so the look of it; a dark slash against his skin. It was not as easy to distinguish the warm brown hues in it by candlelight. In fact, it looked more black than what he knew it to be. Finally he set to his task.

“I did not expect that you would come this night?” the words were breathy, barely loud enough to reach him. He did not pause with the strokes as he pondered an answer. What might be tell her to set her at ease. Naught came to mind, for he knew words would not help.

“I did not wish to stay away.” Sometimes truth was the best option one had. She drew away and for a moment he thought she might bolt, but instead Lya turned around so she was facing him. Haloed by the light of the moon shining somewhere behind her, her face was cast in shadow. Not dark enough, however, that he didn’t catch the he didn’t catch the smile forming on her lips.    

“I do not pretend to know anything about men and their wants, Your Grace, but is that wise? My lord of House Stark just have been disappointed.” A stab of something bothered him just then. Rhaegar reached out, placing the comb in the palm of her hand.

“How Lord Stark feels is not any of my concern.” She nodded, rising to put the comb away upon a small table near the hearth. The firelight shone a light glow through her simple white garment. ‘Twas not the manner of shift which would allow tantalising peeks at what lay beneath, but sturdy cloth borrowing only some colour from the flames.

She returned to him, sitting in the precise spot she’d occupied before. It was her turn to reach out, fingers fumbling with the clasp of his cloak until she managed to divest him of it. Staying as he was, he let her do as she pleased, wondering how far she’d go of her own volition. The cloak fell away and she moved to gather it, arranging the garment upon the back of a chair before drawing near him again so as to better share warmth it seemed, by the way she settled against him, tentative and hopeful at the same time. A small shiver trembled against his side.

“Are you cold?” He knew it had little to do with cold in spite of his words, but then what use was there in frightening her by laying out all the knowledge before her. Instead he wrapped an arm about her shoulders, marvelling at the effect of it.

She responded. “You are warm, Your Grace.” He could feel her breath against his throat, tickling a sensitive spot there. He swallowed. Her head dropped onto his shoulder, more of her weight pressing into him.

“Stay like this then, if you so wish.” That she did, for what seemed to him like hours on end but must have been mere minutes, before gently pulling herself away. She looked into his face with something so very vulnerable that earlier regret returned. He pushed it back and as if to demonstrate to himself that such feelings had no pull on him, Rhaegar drew her nearer so as to better plant his lips on hers.

Unlike the earlier gently brush meant to lure her, the second kiss was a silent claim. Whatever she understood of it, it must have been enough for she allowed him his way, her only contribution consisting of fingers digging into the front of his tunic. The cloth pulled taut. The power behind her tug drew; he thought he heard a whisper of protest from the straining material thus gently pried her hands away bringing them to rest at the back of his neck.

They parted for breath. Something of the firelight reached the side of her face when she tipped her head further backwards. “Will you stay with me this night?” He sought out even a sliver of dread in those words, suddenly wishing for an excuse not to stay. But all his ears picked up was mild curiosity and something like anticipation.

By way of answer, he stood to his feet, disrobing in no hurry. She watched him with an endearing air of awkwardness until she gathered enough courage to approach and offer her aid. Mostly she arranged the garments so as to not cause creases come morning, setting them carefully out of the way in orderly fashion. There were no lingering glances on her part and he did not take the time to encourage her in that sense. With time, she’d grow curious enough to look on her own. There was truly no need to rush her before she was in readiness.

Her garments were easier to rid her of than his had been, after all, she had only a shift, sturdy though it was, to act as shield between them. Unlike Lya, Rhaegar had no qualms about looking. He smiled at her attempt to hide from his sight and left her to her own devices as he blew out the candles, aware of the rustling of sheets. When he turned towards her she was already covered modestly and looking at the night-time scenery.

“Are you scared?” he questioned. Somewhat put at ease when she did not flinch away from his touch.

It took her some time to find her words. “Not precisely.” Casting her eyes upon him, she pursed her lips in a distracting manner. “Not unless you mean to hurt me.” He blinked down at her, confused, his mind yet upon her lips. “Here,” she said after a moment, tugging his hand beneath the furs. She threaded her fingers through his, bringing their fisted hands to rest against her breast.

His other hand did not need guidance. He touched her shoulder briefly before drawing a downward path with the pads of his fingers. The feather-light touches ended in her relaxing after a time. She let go of his hand, allowing him the use of both. And Rhaegar explored her at leisure, learning his way around her body, the hollows and curves mapped with diligence. She warmed up to it before long, her own arms wrapping around him in an innocent hold. But still, she was touching him back, the tips of her fingers scrambling for purchase against his flesh.

He followed through with his own desires, mindful of the small signals her body gave every now and again, seeking out the thrills and telltale signs of enjoyment. A breathy sigh passed her lips as he kissed the hollow of her throat, moving to the side with slow, drawn-out motions. Rhaegar did everything he could to make her comfortable for what would follow and to her credit, Lya seemed to trust him with the task, but even he knew pain could not be avoided. He hushed her with a short kiss as he drew her things apart. She fretted in his grasp for a brief moment before settling back, attention engaged upon him.

Pressing the pads of his fingers against the spot of utmost interest he tested her gently. The vulnerable flesh trembled beneath his touch as did the rest of her, too innerved, he imagined, to keep still. Like prey knowing it was hunted, she tensed and gapsed with the tentative probing he visited upon her. In the end there was nothing for it but to settle between her thighs and press his way in, gaining inch by slow inch as the pressure gathered at the base of his spine in a tightly-wounded knot. She clamped around him, rigid and uncomfortable, a small whimper reaching his ears. He’d felt the thin layer of her maidenhead tear and did his best to keep still within her; no easy feat considering his own body’s urgings.

Again, it was time which solved the issue for him. The fingernails biting half-moons in the skin of his back eased their pressure. He moved slowly at first, listening to the small changes in her breathing pattern. It was unlikely he could work some miracle and take her with him over the edge, but she did not seem to be in pain.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked between one slide and the next, his voice slightly muffled against her collarbone.

She heard him nonetheless. And answered. “Nay. It feels,” a pause ensued as he pressed back into her, lifting her by the hips as he shifted, “full.” Little wonder that, by the way she felt around him. “Is it supposed to be like this?” Short puffs of breath escaped her slightly parted lips. Rhaegar left her question unanswered.

Instead he concentrated on the back and forth of his movements. He’d drawn it out as long as he could and any more would simply not work. His next thrust was sharp eliciting a yelp. For a moment he didn’t know which of them had made the sound. Then the taste of blood filled his mouth and he realised it couldn’t have been him. He’d just bitten down into his lower lip to keep any sound from emerging.

The storm rocked him with increasing violence, his climb gaining a sort of quiet desperation, as though he were a drowning man finally setting eyes upon a distant shore. There was no particular grace to the finish and little in the way of finesse. There was only the storm breaking above-head, the dying rumbles of thunder fading back into the night’s stillness.

Darkness greeted him. It took Rhaegar a moment to realise his eyes had been closed. He forced them open, looking down at the woman beneath him. Her eyes were closed as well, lips parted slightly, thigh muscles tense. He severed their bond, drawing out of her to a hiss whistling its way past his still gritted teeth. Her own breath released in a long soft sound. Rhaegar made an effort to roll onto his side. He felt drained.

Absently, he pulled Lya into his side. She turned into him, pillowing her head onto the arm not wrapped around her waist. One of her legs bent slightly, her knee knocking into his thigh. Damp skin clung to his own, slow-to-dry moisture a reminder making the night seem cooler. He drew the furs tightly about Lyanna’s shoulders, dropping a kiss somewhere at the line of her hair, very near her ear.

She slept, that he could tell by her breathing and the relaxed state of her body. He ran his fingers through her hair, until he’d managed to gather it all over one shoulder. He braided it loosely, meaning to keep it from getting in her way come morning and tied it with a ribbon he found looped around her wrist. Eventually he fell asleep as well, holding onto her.

When he woke, it was to the diffuse glow of predawn, the misty morning allowing only so much. The chamber had cooled during the night and no wonder considering the open window. Lyanna was still tucked beneath the furs, one hand grasping his arm, the other resting against his chest. He left her sleeping as soon as he managed to disentangle himself.

He washed the sleep from his face before dressing himself for the day. There were still matters to attend, loathe as he was to be away from a source of much curiosity. Slipping his tunic on, he turned to gaze upon the girl one more time. She stirred ever so slightly, tugging the furs into her front, gathering them to her chest so as to create a solid wall. He smiled at the sight and left her to her sleep, knowing she was safe for the time being.

Arthur awaited his arrival in the yard of the inn, a tankard of ale in hand. Rhaegar was more than happy to join him in drinking, which the innkeeper saw they were provided with enough drink to do so. His friend gave him a hard look. “I take it the deed is done?”    

Rising his tankard in silent salutation, Rhaegar took a swing. That was answer enough. Arthur shook his head and leaned back slightly so as to better look at him. “I sure hope it was worth the fuss. You left me with quite some explaining to do.” He didn’t doubt that. “The lady of the house was beside herself. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her quite so animated before in my life.”

“She didn’t try to practice her aim on you, I hope.” He chuckled at the possibility. It was the quiet ones one needed to watch out for; one never knew what was going through their heads.

“It won’t be the first time I was assaulted on your account,” Arthur grumbled back. “But nay, she had words only for her husband.” Arthur’s mien turned serious. “I found it strange still; to make that sort of ruckus over one insignificant woman.” He explained the whole of it to Rhaegar.

“Might be the lady of the house is simply unsettled.” It was a scene he’d seen enough of with his lady mother and that woman did know how to aim. Lady Stark, as much of a shrew as his mother. Who would have thought? In fact, she’d seemed so bland and lifeless that Rhaegar had wondered if she weren’t might be a tad simple. Yet she spoke all the right words and saw to her duties. He’d concluded that it was simply her way and left it at that. “I wish I were there to see it.”

“You may go back this evening then and I shall keep company with little Lya,” the knight suggested after a brief pause. A favour returned. Fingers clutching the handle of his tankard, Rhaegar turned a black glare upon Arthur. In answer his friend clucked his tongue in a dismissive manner. “Nay; you never were one to share, I suppose.”

“You are correct.” He took another drink of his ale, washing down some of the food he’d been brought. “Keep an eye on her for me, won’t you? I have something to see to.” The matter was not precisely urgent, still, he would rather see it through and done with. Thus he departed the inn upon his well-rested horse and made for the keep.

Lord Stark was a man early to rise, that much he knew, thus was not surprised when he was received in the solar. He did not look like a man who’d endured the sharp slashed of an angry wife’s tongue, but then he did not look like he had much in the way of emotions to begin with. “My lord, I was wondering if you could clarify a matter for me,” he said by way of greeting, not intending to stay long.

Rickard Stark regarded him intently before nodding his head. “If it is in my power, Your Grace.”

Rhaegar sat down, choosing a chair near the arching window. “That girl you son approached,” he began, looking for any signs of discomfort in the other man, “whose is she? Not your maester’s, surely?”

Two chips of ice roamed over his face. “Does it matter, Your Grace? Would it change your decision?”

“A mere curiosity. I thought it strange her kin would wait so long before taking her in.” The man’s face remained impassive, almost as though he’d practiced the very conversation they were having.

The rehearsed answer came, as he’d expected. “Very well, she is not Nan’s kin, nor does she belong to my maester.”

“Then?” he prodded, interested in what story he would be fed next.

“To tell you rightly, Your Grace, I know very little other than I was asked to take her in. Probably some hedge knight’s get.” A good answer, but somewhat too telling. Rhaegar questioned the hedge knight part further. Somewhat ill at ease, the lord had only so much to offer upon the subject. “The mother would not name her sire, said he had left these parts long past. Or so is my understanding.” At least the man was quick on his feet.

Rhaegar gave all pretence of accepting the answer, even more curious about the tangles in Lya’s past. He would find out one way or another, he told himself, and might be he’d even share it with the girl. If he thought it opportune. He turned the conversation to safer topics before taking his leave of the Old Wolf.

His feet took him to the courtyard wherein he found Robert and the middle brother along with the Stark heir. Robert, not one to fix his attentions too firmly on any woman, started by congratulating him for the march he’d stolen on them all. “What a thing to do; and so secretive about it too. I was curious about the girl as well.”

“Alas, your curiosity will have to go unsatisfied.” He was not about to share anything with Robert, as that one did not care one way or another. Brandon Stark, on the other hand, was positively seething. “Stark,” he addressed the livid man, “care for a round against me?” He nodded towards the practice swords.

No doubt eager to vent some of his frustration, the man accepted the challenge. A pity no one told him he should not enter a battle with his mind clouded. Rhaegar allowed him a few hits in, feigning a weaker position than the one he held. It would be all the more pleasant to knock him down when came the time.

“How was she, Your Grace? Worth the coin?” Brandon asked during a lull just as he pulled away after having landed a hit on Rhaegar’s shoulder. There had been a bit too much force behind the strike for it to be without meaning.

“I thought you would have understood by now, that girl is no whore.” It took Brandon a moment to gain his bearing and understand what he’d been told. Using the confusion to his advantage, Rhaegar turned the flat of his blade as he slammed the sword across his opponent’s midsection. Just as Brandon had done before, he put most of his strength into the blow, knocking the man back.

Bitter, sharp fury rose to the fore as Lord Stark’s son launched into an attack. But Rhaegar had been waiting just for that. Mindless fury might lend him strength, but it also made him vulnerable to a calculated approach. Again, he brought his sword down in a string of blows, aiming for weak, unprotected points as he went. His foe fell and got up, again and again. In the end, even someone as pigheaded as Brandon had to grow tired and sore. He landed on his knees.

A blunt tip met a thickening vein. Rhaegar held his sword poised, as though for a slash. “A good fight,” he said, breathing hard. Throwing away his blade, he reached one hand out. Brandon glanced at the appendage for a few moments as silence stretched out between them. For a brief moment, Rhaegar thought he would refuse. But that would have been truly foolish. He helped the young man to his feet, giving his shoulder a bruising slap. “We should have another go at it sometime.”

“Aye, Your Grace.” He looked into cold eyes which shone with a quiet fire. “Another time I might end up the victor.” He wasn’t speaking about swords, though, not that Rhaegar could tell. Leaning somewhat closer in, Brandon added, “The fortune smiles upon you this day; but never forget it is a fickle mistress.”

Rhaegar smiled pleasantly at that. “I have to say, ser, you do know how to take a loss,” he said back in the same quiet manner. “Are you hoping mine will be as fickle as fortune? Is that it?” He was aware that the younger brother and his own kin watched them with interest.

“No need for her to be,” Brandon shrugged. “Haven’t yet met a woman I couldn’t convince with some persuasion.” Rhaegar wondered what sort of persuasion that was. Still, one had to keep in mind he’d been drunk when setting eyes upon Lya. A sober Brandon might present some danger. ”I wonder how Your Grace takes losses.”   

He laughed. He couldn’t help himself. This one had to be a wild wolf, he decided. One without a sense of self-preservation either. “If you are brave enough to test yourself against me, by all means.” His grin kept even as he drew away. “Robert; we’ll be a day more and then I expect to make for the Wall. Don’t tarry with some tavern wench, you hear, or I’m leaving you and this one,” he nodded to Eddard Stark, “to make your way back to Arryn on your own.”

Holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender, Robert nodded his head empathically, his responding grin telling. ‘Twas only Eddad Stark who seemed to take no joy in the ribbing, instead glancing between the three of them with a somewhat dour mien. But then he had little wish to further contemplate Eddard Stark and a hankering for Lya.

The morning was gone and the day progressed into noon. Even she ought to have awakened by now. Might be she paced the inn’s yard in anticipation of his return. The thought was enough to hurry him along. He was near the stables when he heard someone call for him. He turned his head just a bit, enough to catch sight of the middle Stark barrelling towards him.

The youth stopped before him, breathing hard. He swallowed. “That girl, had Your Grace truly taken her for a mistress?” he question impudently, in the manner of youths.

“My, word does travel fast around here,” Rhaegar replied noncommittally. He gave a soft smile. “Why do you wish to know, young Eddard Stark?”

The boy’s fist clenched. “I know her.” How interesting. That must mean he’d known she was no whore even as his brother had accused her.

“And yet you did not come to her defence.” A hot flush crawled over the boy’s face. “What is it to you then, if I’ve made her my mistress?”

“You don’t understand.” He waited for an explanation. But it seemed to him that he waited in vain for the boy’s eyes drew away from his, settling on the ground. He seemed to be considering his words carefully. “Did you know we had a sister?” He hasn’t. He said as much. “She died, a long time ago.”

“What has this to do with Lya?” His own sister had died. It softened his question more than he’d have wished it to.

“Mother was beside herself about Lya the other night. She always has been. I used to think it the strangest thing. Do you know that I have never once seen her up at the keep? All the other children have at least come through these gates. Never Lya though.” It clicked in his mind then, the reason for the many tales and the Lady Stark’s anger. “I never thought that she’d appear before us. And never did I dream Brandon might try his usual tricks on her.” The fingers loosened. “If I am correct, how can I possibly keep quiet in such a moment?”

“The same way you did when your brother set upon her, I imagine,” Rhaegar answered flatly. “We cannot choose when we engage with our duties, my boy. It would be best if you pretend ignorance as you have done to up until this point. I will take care of her, isn’t that enough?”

Ashen faced the young man took a step back. “If Your Grace says so, then I must agree, I suppose.” Another one he’d have to keep away from Lya for the time being. Rhaegar nodded his head impatiently. “Just know that I haven’t been neglecting my duties. That would be my lord father.”

“Very well. I will hear you out, boy, if you ever become lord of this keep.” That day wouldn’t come. And if by some unhappy chance it did, Rhaegar hadn’t truly agreed to anything. The more they tried to tug her out of his grasp, the firmer his hold turned. “Until then.”

He rode away equal parts satisfied and perturbed. The inn was precisely where he’d left it. Lyanna, however, wasn’t. He found her, sure enough, in the yard, walking barefoot through the tall grass, and the folds of her skirts billowing in the gentle breeze. She held it slightly up so the hem wouldn’t brush the ground.       

As soon as she saw him, she rushed forth, forgetting all about protecting her precious garment. Lunging at him, she wrapped both arms around his shoulders, pulling herself up just as his own armed came about her waist hoisting her in the air. “I thought you’d left,” she said, cheek pressed to his, voice wavering. He recognised the sound as a prelude to weeping.

“Without you?” he teased. “Never.” He put her down, staring into the upturned face. “There were some matters I had to see to.” She nodded her head, as though to signal understanding.

“And now what?” Something like hope suffused her face. Powerless against that and with fresh memories surfacing, he clasped her back to him.

“Patience,” he answered.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something, something, asshats everywhere. I don't know guys. I tried. That's what's important.
> 
> Anyway, I hope it wasn't a total waste.
> 
> The good news is that we probs won't veer into Explicit. Imagine how much worse that would be.


	3. iii - last warning

 

 

 

 

 

 

The subtle ache burrowed into the muscles of her thighs, threading lines of pain along her flesh, like sharp nails dragging along the invisible paths. It was by no means the sort of discomfort which might give rise to actual complaints. In fact, the more she moved, the more Lyanna found the knots easying. She glanced over her shoulder at the man sitting in the shade, aware that his eyes had never truly left her since she’d found her way into the generous courtyard of the inn.

There was truly no easy way of approaching an imposing figure such as Ser Arthur Dayne. Even the likes of her had heard the tales of his bravery and heroics. And yet, for a man showered with the adoration of a thousand voices, he looked so very remote. So unapproachable. Like brittle glass, she thought a moment later, wondering at the vague similarity in his aura and the feeling His Grace gave off. A warning, her mind supplied. It was best not to blindly approach either of these men. Might be any men.

And yet approach she had. Lyanna was not about to give up without even the slightest attempt. At the very least she should have the satisfaction of having tried. Thus emboldened, she took a deep breath. One foot in front of the other, step by step, she brought herself closer to the bench and its lone occupant. He gave little indication other than a prolonged blink that he’d seen her,

“Ser Dayne,” she spoke, demanding a surer indication on his part, “I never got the chance to thank you.”

Surprise flashed across his features before melting into a neutral expression. “Whatever for?” His voice was strong. Not as deep as Rhaegar’s and somewhat less clear; it was, if she were to compare it to anything else, much like a childhood memento; meaningful, but never quite in a transparent way. She did not understand the sudden heat in her cheeks and drew a step back. It felt wrong to be so affected. Her feet moved her further back.

“You were very gallant that night.” She clarified no further, choosing to look at the grass bending beneath her feet instead. “I thought I should say it to you, so you know the gesture was appreciated.” Her gaze shifted, eyes blinking up into his. Blue eyes again; she almost smiled. The shade of blue was not as the other’s she’d seen. 

“How odd,” the knight commented after a brief moment of silence. “You talk as though it was consideration on my part.” He stood, towering over her. How insignificant that made her feel; especially with the full heat of his glare upon her. “It was an order; I am sworn to follow those.” Lyanna breathed in sharply as the distance between them was bridged by one step of his. It was so unfair that she was quarry when she’d done so very little. “I am more surprised you accepted the escort with no complaint.” He reached out, hand settling on her shoulder. The touch was heavy with silent warning. 

Her body, might be more knowledgeable than her mind upon these matters, trembled nervously. A heavy pang followed. “The reason does not matter.” It surprised her, the many differences she was aware of as they stood there. A smile quirked his lips. There was no genuine joy she could detect. As a result her worry increased, 

“Was there truly no one you could turn to?” The hand upon her tightened its grip into a firm hold. The delicate bones beneath hurt with the strain for a moment. “No one who might have taken you in?” For the life of her she couldn’t understand why he pressed the issue in the face of her silence. Still, as he did not seem satisfied with no answer, she ventures to put one forth.

“None would have given me the consideration His Grace gives me. Ought I have sold myself cheaper, ser?” Something light a muffled chuckle emerged from his tightly pressed-together lips. “Those who have freedom to do as they please might well not understand.” His good humour vanished with those words.

“You are mistaken again.” She bit into her lower lip, trying to determine his meaning. But as abruptly as he’d grabbed her, he let go. She stumbled backwards without a line to anchor her. Thankfully, she caught herself before she could fall down. The knight eyed her with open curiosity, as though he were a maester and she a newly-discovered medicinal plant. Her lips pursed in answer to that and she dusted off her skirts, needing something to do so she might avoid his gaze for a moment. That one breath between glances was all she needed to regain composure.

“How am I mistaken?” Lyanna demanded. A gust of wind blew past, dragging at her hair, at the leaves and at his cloak. Her fingers shook as she finally pulled them away from the fall of her skirts.

Holding his hand out in invitation, he had few words to say. “Walk with me.” She might have refused. It would serve him right. But his assertion intrigued her. More so given the fact she had taken the Prince at face value. Yet who was precisely as they seemed? She accepted in order to satisfy her own curiosity. “Just as long as we do not go too far. His Grace is bound to return soon.”

“Tell me, why do you think he came to your aid?” They’d crossed the boundary of the yard, making for a more densely populated area where trees created a curtain. They could still be seen, thus Arthur exposed her to little enough danger. But they would not be heard unless directly approached.   

“He took pity on me.” It was the only answer which made sense to her. It wasn’t chivalry, for he hadn’t any inkling as to her identity. It could not be anything deeper than pity, as he did not know her.

“Might be if you were a child.” She startled again to hear him speak so. “Pity does not move one quite so much.” Her face flushed with heat. “How much of a fool are you, girl?”

“Why would that matter to you?” The words were spoken harshly; but his bluntness hurt her as well. She did not wish to think of the situation in such a way. Aye, she’d resolved to keep her heart as well protected as she could, but the notion that it was all a game rankled.

“Someone has to care.” A shadow fell upon them. One of the trees blocked out the sun. “Someone has to wonder about the morrow, for it seems that you do not.” She couldn’t deny it. Her plans, whatever little there existed of them, concerned not so much her own existence as the home of her kin. “Choose your crutches with care or they may fail you when you need them most.”

Lyanna surprised even herself with the clever reply she put forth. “If you wish to say something to me, I pray you, speak plainly. I am but an unknowing girl. It doesn’t help to confused me with veiled meanings.” That would have to be the end of it.

But it wasn’t. She knew as soon as he shook his head that she’d failed to convince him of her ignorance. “I do not know your circumstances and will thereby not insist upon that. But surely you understand your position is far from ideal.”

“Shall I walk out on His Grace then?” It was a snide question, meant to underline the idiocy of such an attempt. “I do not know what I will do when he grows tired of me; I do not even know for how long I will hold his interest. It may surprise you, but never before have I attempted to engage a man’s interest.” He listened patiently. “But what he is willing to give, I will take. At least that much I have a right to.”

“An honest life will bring you less grief.” It was not that she did not see his point, it was simply that he couldn’t possibly be correct.

“By whose count, ser?” Her chin rose a notch. “I was certainly spared no grief in spite of a life lead in honesty. Lord Stark’s son still saw fit to accost me. His Grace offered me a place in his bed, even knowing that I was an innocent. Certainly no one came knocking on my door asking to wed the honest girl in the house.” She took a deep, steadying breath. “On the contrary, it has brought me naught but grief and I readily renounce any claim to propriety.”

Having never considered herself particularly foolish, Lyanna silently thanked the Kingsguard. On the face of it, she would never speak words of agreement; but he was not incorrect. And it was most helpful to be reminded, in spite of her reticence, of how matters stood. His Grace had used all circumstances to his advantage and she must do the same if she wished to come out victorious. Still, mean too often thought themselves the keepers of irrefutable truth. It wouldn’t hurt the one before her to learn he could not always have the right of it.

Her little diatribe was greeted with pensive silence. Ser Arthur Dayne kept her in his sight as she pushed back her shoulders in a show of clear defiance. It did not matter that the words could never pass her lips; she was more than his equal and he would not step on her, no matter how well-intentioned his warnings. “I have entered this agreement with open eyes,” she continued, having managed a calmer frame of mind. “I have nothing to fear, for I desire no more than what I shall receive.” It paid to have as little expectations as possible, after all. She embraced that truth close to heart. ”Is that all?”

“If you can manage it, find some other benefactor. Rhaegar is nearing the end of his grace period. He will wed again. I tell you this as his friend and as a man who knows him; you will be liability if you choose to stay.”

Hadn’t she herself thought as much? Teeth nibbling into her lower lip she grasped at the dizzying wave of anger stealing over her. “Then he ought to tell me that himself. If you are truly his friend, you’d wish him comfortable.”

A bark of laughter tore itself from the man’s throat. “What about being in the power of strong lust seems comfortable to you, woman?” She bristled. “I never thought the situation looked like that in the eyes of a female.”

Was it a deliberate attempt to drive her to violence, she wondered, her fingers closing in a tight fist. She wanted to yell out that it had naught to do with lust, but wasn’t that simply the reaction of a man to a woman whose appearance he took some pleasure in? Aye, she’s not counted on lust motivating the Prince’s actions. Had she thought him somehow beyond such measly desires? “If he feels lust for me that is his own concern. And in any event, even if I wished to leave, I have nowhere else to go.” Rhaegar had promised to find her a home when time came, but she knew better than to rely on him for that.

“Easily remedied. His Grace means to bring you to court.” She blinked at him in confusion. “There are plenty of fish in the sea.” How deeply could he cut before she bled at his feet? Shame jabbed at the soft coating of flesh around her heart. Protesting would be useless, she knew. All these men saw only what they wanted to see. Words were mist breaking upon the sharp edge of an intellect’s sword. She could defend herself all she wanted and somehow he would still argue for the same conclusions. In the face of that, she changed tack.

“I did not think you so cruel. His Grace has been kind to me and no matter what your opinion on the nature of our understanding, I cannot be expected to flee the one who offered me sanctuary.” To tell him or not? She did not think it would soften him, but might be it would make him understand her better. Was it not better to be understood than to be agreed with? “Does not a human’s heart beat in your breast as well?” she questioned, warming to her subject as something dark blinked into existence in her collocutor’s gaze. “Does a white cloak make one incapable of understand that men and women will act as they do?”

He flinched, but did not back down as she’d expected. “There is always a choice involved. And do not think to tell me I do not understand the nature of this bond.” It was anger, that which she saw. The realisation chilled her insides. Uneasy, her heart hammered away in her chest. He was not a concerned friend; at least not wholly so.

“I cannot say it any clearer than I have done up to this point, ser; I thank you for the advice, but this matter concerns me and His Grace. You’ve no place in it.” Especially not when he attempted to dictate the terms upon which she was to conduct herself. She turned to leave, unwilling to battle the matter out any longer.

He let her. She knew it was only because he did so that she even managed to take a step away. Her feet carried her back to the inn’s courtyard, then into the building itself and up the stairs. Her chamber awaited as she’s left it, the comforting scent of familiarity clinging to every small corner. She entered fully and fell into one of the chairs. And long might she have stayed into it as well were it not for a peculiar occurrence.

A knock on the door jostled her out of the contemplative state she’d been sinking into. Stammering out a few confused words on account of her muddled brain, she was only half-surprised to see one of the innkeeper’s daughters poking her head in. “I’ve aught for you.” She spoke brazenly to Lya, which surprised Lyanna not at all for she was a kept woman and not some noble creature. In accordance she stood from her seat and made her way to the door where she received a small, folded piece of paper. “I can read it for you.”

Galled at the assumption that she didn’t even know her letters, Lyanna sent the girl on her way with a sharp command. She unfolded the papers herself and nearly wept at the audacity of the person who’d penned the words. Doubtlessly, the gods took delight in her suffering. She crumpled the message in her anger, throwing it from her. A moment later she changed her mind and retrieved it. Loathe as she was to turn to the unfeeling Ser Dayne, he had his orders and that, at least, she knew he followed.

He’d returned as well, which did not surprise her in the least, and was preoccupied with some conversation. The stable hand whose attention he had engaged was a young boy whom she did not recall having seen about, but knew to be the butcher’s son. Might be that man had loaned the innkeeper a pair of hands. Marching towards the two, she demanded the knight’s attention with nary a care for the flustered young boy who eyed her with wonder-tinged curiosity. Was she becoming a figure of legend so very soon into the whole affair? The boy was sent on his way, with a small reminder to mind what he’d been told.

And then she had the Kingsguard all to herself, yet again. Unwilling to waste time she passed him the note she’d received, explaining the matter without sparing any detail. On the whole, it wasn’t so very dangerous to her, but if she meant to accede, and she did, she could not do it without some manner of protection.

The man must have inferred as much for he crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. “I do not understand this desire of yours. I thought you found Brandon Stark’s proposal a distasteful one.”

“And he think he may bother me incessantly even though I should be well beyond his claim. I mean to tell him as much.” A flicker of understanding melted into vague acceptance. “But I do not think His Grace should be involved. Not in this. I know not his purpose in coming to these parts and if he desires the North’s support, then quarrelling with Lord Stark’s son is the last thing he should do. That is why, Ser Dayne, I ask that you keep close by me and should it come to violence,” which in her mind was not impossible given her temper and her foe’s, “I would have you intervene.”

“Which of you am I to save?” It took a moment for the jest to register. She laughed, unable to keep her amusement tightly bound. Something between them eased, just a fraction. “You should tell Rhaegar. It may surprise you what that mind of his is capable of in terms of finding solutions.”

“Nay. This I must do on my own elsewise Lord Stark’s son will never give up.” He seemed to understand that as well. An uneasy nod followed her words. “If you must, you may tell His Grace after.” Lyanna bit her lip, considering her next words for a moment. “Would that I might turn to someone else; but you are the only one I can turn to. Thus you shall have to do.”

“One day you will understand my position better.” His voice held the same strange quality from before. Lyanna drew away from him, resolving to return to walking the lengthy of the yard for activity. His Grace ought to return soon enough and then she’s have no need to concern herself with the knight until nightfall.

Her instinct proved correct. Picking up her skirts, she ran to the newly arrived man, throwing her arms around him. “I thought you’d left,” she teased, aware that her voice trembled. It was a mere reaction to the relief coursing through her veins, she assured herself, feeling his arm hold her steady. Her feet were no longer on the ground. Lyanna pressed her face into his shoulder, hearing the answer he gave not only with her ears. He put her down.

Lyanna gazed up into his face, accepting his explanation. After all, the man owed her nothing of the manner and that he chose to enlighten her was enough in itself. “And now what?” she questioned, only somewhat startled, but mostly delighted, to be pulled back into him.

“Patience.” Pulling a face at his answer, she pushed against him so that she might be released. He allowed her the escape. Just barely.

A pout formed on her lips. “You should have woken me when you left.” To wake alone in that chamber had been unpleasant to say the least. For a brief moment, she had even considered that he’d been displeased with her and had left her to fend for herself. A lucky thing Ser Dayne’s presence alerted her to the contrary.

The Prince gave her a small smile. “You needed your rest.” Bother that, Lyanna thought, grabbing hold of his arm as he finally let go of her. She held onto him, as he walked towards Arthur. Lyanna watched the knight warily, willing him to keep their earlier discussion to himself. Well, both of their discussions, she supposed; but the fist she much doubted he’d bring up on his own.

The tension between them must have been noticeable, for Rhaegar looked from one to the other, an unspoken question forming. When neither answered, he proceeded with his own plans. “We shall leave on the morrow for Dragonstone. Dayne, if Robert isn’t here come morning, I expected you to go and collect him.” They spoke a while more of the journey, a conversation she had naught to offer to. It was nice all the same to stay glued to Rhaegar’s side, his voice washing over her. It was not a particularly long conversation, for it seemed many of the particulars had been agreed upon well beforehand  and all that remained was soft reminders.

And then Rhaegar guided her along into the inn, one hand to the small of her back, as though to add to her speed. Having no idea what it was he attempted to achieve, Lyanna went along, clutching his arm even as he encouraged her to enter their chamber. The door closed behind them. There was no bar sidling into place, however.

“And how has your morning passed?” she heard him ask, before turning around to face him. Currently engaged in divesting himself of his cloak, his eyes were not upon her. Lyanna immediately jumped in to aid, nimble fingers working the clasps open.  

“Uneventful, Your Grace. And yours?” It was small talk, something she generally kept away from. Something she should not be engaging in at the moment. It had a way of bringing to the forefront of her mind how little she knew about those who spoke to her in such a manner.

“Useful.” It was an interesting response. Lyanna blinked back the touch of confusion weaving its way through her thoughts. “I did wish to speak to you upon a matter, if you can spare the time.” His hand caught hers, stilling her fingers as they clutched the collar of his cloak.

“Your Grace knows my time is always yours.” She pulled her hand away and moved out of his reach, taking the cloak with her. There’d been something in his eyes, something she did not know if she liked.

“Tell me, have you been with Nan all your life?” She froze. He’d gone to the keep. Had that been his goal? To find out about her heritage? Well, no matter; it was not as if her sire would give him an inch and she couldn’t do that either.

“I have been with her for a very long time and before that I lived further up north, as I said.” Calmly, Lyanna put the cloak away. She took a deep breath before facing her lover. “Is there a particular reason for which you wish to know?”

“Curiosity. I thought, might be, there was someone out there you could call family.”  That couldn’t be it. Had he some scheme in mind? 

But why would small folk feature in his plans to begin with? “In any event, even if I did have some living kin, I do not think they’d have much interest in me.”

“Is that so? Even with everything a connection has to offer?” She hadn’t considered that. But then she might not need to. Lyanna offered a lax smile as she formed her response.

“I will certainly not advertise my current position, Your Grace. And if any kin of mine should turn up, they will find little hospitality with me. One shouldn’t expect aid from those one has hurt, wouldn’t you say?”

He held his hands up. “Very well, I see your point.” He came nearer, placing an arm around her shoulders. “It merely seemed a pity to me that you should have no one but Nan.”

“Quality is more important than quantity, Your Grace.” Having offered him such an answer, she supposed she couldn’t protest too much when he set his mind to another matter altogether. His lips settled against her brow in an odd gesture. There was no passion she could feel in that kiss, in fact it felt like something a brother might give to his sister in comfort.

“I shudder at the notion of ever crossing you, woman. Is there even one forgiving bone in your body?” She knew he spoke in jest. It was clear from the way he said the words. She forced herself to chuckle lightly. Would that he knew the extent of it.

“Aye. Best not to cross me.” She put her arms about his waist, her face finding his chest. Lyanna closed her eyes, aware of his heartbeat sounding in her ear. She took some comfort in his closeness; another human being who might not understand her, but who offered her warmth. “I thought Your Grace already knew that much.”

He hooked a finger under her chin, raising her head. “Just as long as you know not to cross me either.” His finger moved to trace her bottom lip. It was a gentle gesture, yet her skin burned as though he’d used a brand upon her. The smarting flesh quivered.

A warning. She supposed it was to be expected. “I have no such plans.” Nay; she meant to stay in his good graces. How else was she to achieve her revenge? Smiling widely, she brought her hands up to cup his face. “May I make a request?”

Interest flared to life in his gaze. “Of course.” He lowered his hands to her waist. Was he a seer? Some type of mind reader?

“May I have a kiss, Your Grace, since I missed you this morning?” She did not wish to think of the future, at least not for the time being. There was no answer to her query but the slow descent of his lips upon hers. Like the press of lips to her brow, he gave naught beyond a calming sense of comfort. She drank it in, pleased with the attention, even if she’d expected something of a more consuming nature. Fingers dug into her sides after a time and his mouth broke from hers. Laboured breaths filled the scant space between them. He returned after a brief moment, this time pressing harder. She accepted that as well. And when he finally allowed her breath, she was well satisfied with the greeting she’d not had in the morning.

It never occurred to her these attempts were meant to counteract the observations of Ser Dayne, the certainty of the man’s that she would do better to part from His Grace. The realisation was slow to arrive and quick to sour her mood. A knot settled in her throat and unease unfurled in the pit of her stomach as she was released so the Prince might move to other matters and another chamber altogether, with a promise that they would dine together.

And thus he left her with naught to do but twiddle her thumbs and await the hour of supper. A good thing she yet had Nan who was willing to entertain her until the moment came. The old woman greeted her arrival with a look of equal parts joy and sorrow. “My poor little lamb; why do you look as though you might cry?”

Might be because tears truly were sliding down her cheeks. She’d not meant to give them free rein. But there she was, cheeks wet with scalding tears. “It is not as I thought it would be,” she managed quietly, sitting down on the edge of the bed, with Nan right at her side. The old woman patted her arm comfortingly.

“Has he been rough with you, then?” She shook her head; he’d been kindness itself. “Hurt you?” Again, she answered in the negative; his touch had been gentle. “Did you dislike it?” She hadn’t; if he’d asked it of her she would have gladly shared his bed again. “Why then do you cry?”

“Because Ser Dayne has the right of it,” she uttered. It took her some time to rely the whole of the conversation, but between her and Nan’s guesses, they had the whole of it pieced together. “If he were careless or unkind, I could better steer myself. But he insists upon treating me like this; how can I distance myself from him?”

“You feel you need to distance yourself already? I wish there was some way we could tell–” She brought her finger up, to silence the words. Nan meant well. Soulful eyes regarded her with a wealth of sympathy. “I’m an old woman, my dear girl. These eyes have seen many a love tale end in tragedy over mere trifles. If you do not speak, you will never be heard.”

“I cannot.” She did not wish for the King’s justice. She wished for her own.

“Allow him, then, no more than what may be readily seen.” She startled at the words. “In the end, no one can love what they don’t know. If you keep your distance, he will too. Men have a way of reading women, just as we read them.” Nan’s frown deepened. “But if you would have some advice, there are times when what we wish for is not what we need.”

“What are you saying?” She’d forgotten that Nan could be her equal when it came to schemes and she more often than not got away with only what the crone wished to allow her.   

The hand on her arm retreated. “You are a young woman of distinguished birth meant to live her life in a manner not befitting her station. You may turn your face towards the past in a bid to recapture what once was, or you can step forth, into the future. These choices only you can make. Your father need not dictate your actions beyond the boundaries of the North.”

“You don’t understand.” Her companion shrugged. “I want to pull the strings just once. That will be enough for me. I want him to know it is me who pulls those strings. I want him to feel as powerless as I did once.”

“Then why not go to the King?” A sensible question. One which had Lyanna grunting in frustration.

“Because that would be the King pulling the strings!” Besides, she was not wholly lacking in filial sentiment. Their line was an old one; not everything should be sacrificed on the altar of vengeance. Her shoulder slumped. “I have to do this myself.”

“If you must.” It was as much of an answer as she was going to get, Lyanna knew. She nodded her head, to strengthen her own resolve. Might be being kind was simply the way His Grace was and she ought not to read too much into it. She had little experience concerning the relationships between lovers. It struck her that she was worrying needlessly over matters which could well find solutions in their own time.

She did not know the Prince, nowhere near enough to have formed a definitive opinion on the manner of man he was. If indeed she would need to distance herself, she was certain there would be enough sense left in her to do so. If not, if he gave her reason enough not to allow her heart to engage then she need not do anything herself.

Somewhat relieved at the conclusion, she saw herself back into her own chamber. Once more her absence had been made use of. This time, however, the surprise awaiting her was of a nature to please her. Lyanna smiled at the colourful bolts of cloth which had been placed upon a low bench near the wall.

She eyed a deep blue cloth, reaching out to touch it. The material had a gentle shimmer about it. It felt smooth beneath her fingertips. She could embroider something or another along tight sleeves and use the lighter blue cloth she spied in the corner for the hem. Granted, she might go the more daring route and create something out of the deep burgundy fabric that next caught her eye. Might be that was a bit too much. She smiled at herself and shook her head. Blue would have to do for the beginning. Alas, she did not think she might set to work until they reached Dragonstone.

Looking down at her drab kyrtle, Lyanna frowned. What did it matter what she wore? The servants on Dragonstone were not likely to confuse her with the new mistress of the house. Her cheeks flamed and she pushed herself away from the bolts of cloth. Her back turned upon the gift, Lyanna fiddled with a strand of hair. Her current wardrobe would have to do until she could eke out something else. Might be Nan would help her as well. That ought to make it easier to manage.

With that in mind, she turned around and put the bolts away in an open chest. The lid was brought down in the wake of the task being completed. Rolling her shoulders to ease the tension she hadn’t even known had gathered there, Lyanna shook her head. Her finger tapped the wood a few times before she stood up. It had to be nearing suppertime. And after she must see to the lord’s son. She wondered if she could get Ser Arthur to deliver a nasty blow to that lout. A girl could dream.

Rhaegar returned, as he’d promised. The food came as well. It was a good meal, by all accounts, allowing for both eating and conversation. Granted, it was not particularly deep conversation, but it served to lighten her mood. “Tell me more about Dragonstone,” she encouraged when the opportune moment presented itself. “How long have you had it?”

“It has been some years now,” he said. “Dragonstone is the seat of the Crown Prince; it has been so for many generations. Albeit, one does wonder why past Kings did not see fit to move said seat to a more profitable keep.”

“What do you mean?” Lyanna was aware that managing a keep was never quite as easy as taking stock of the riches around it. She also knew that resources ended. But she was not at all familiar with Dragonstone. “Has it naught of value to offer?"

“Naught which would make a lord rich. Might be there is some sense in it after all,” he muttered. Lyanna blinked, waiting for him to continue. He did so. “I spent some of my youth there, before my lady mother followed father to King’s Landing after he ascended the throne.”

“Strange that she did not go to him right away.” An amused sort of sound left her companion. “Have I said something wrong?”

“My parents have never been particularly close. Theirs was and continues to be a political alliance. It is simply a means by which the bloodline remains strong.” Her lips pursed as she struggled to understand the hidden meaning she could see peeking from just beneath the more mundane meaning of the words.

“Still, they have been married for more than two decades at this point. I am certain there is some affection between them.” They were brother and sister besides, were they not? Lyanna did know that most brothers and sisters were not as distant as she was with her siblings.

“If only time were enough.” He sidled closer. “They do what needs to be done. Beyond that, I do not believe they hold one another in any manner of affection.”

Her hands moved from her eating utensils to her lap. She worried her lower lip between her teeth for a brief moment. “His Majesty, does he keep a mistress?” At first there was no response. Lyanna worried she might have approached the subject too bluntly. Gathering her courage, she glanced at the man’s face.

There was no ire in his features, merely a thoughtful expression. “I do not know if he keeps one now, but there have been a few over the years.” He must have seen her expression, for he elaborated. “His last mistress was released from her obligations sometime before my wife’s death.”

“I see.” Two decades was a long time when one had no affection for one’s partner, she supposed. Albeit, she did not see how he might have had any love for any of those women either. “Your Grace has given me something to consider.”

The night ended upon a positive note. She did not dig any deeper into the matter of mistresses and he spoke more of his childhood years. It was all in all a pleasant interlude before they found their way to bed. And he did not seek to have her again, but seemed content to hold her to him. Lyanna knew she would not sleep, yet for the sake of his own rest, she closed her eyes and relaxed into him, keeping her mind upon a path of planning so as to better facilitate her wakefulness.

When came the moment to leave the bed, she did her best to escape without disturbing her lover’s sleep. That aside, she would be back soon enough. If worst came to worst, she might simply say she’d felt the need for some fresh air.

Lyanna deliberately took Rhaegar’s cloak with her as she sneaked out the door. She fastened the garment about her shoulders, thankful for both the warmth and comforting scent. Arthur’s chamber was close enough that she need not fear discovery. She rapped on the door gently.

He was prepared. The knight held one candle aloft as he studied her, standing in the doorway. Lyanna waited to see if he had might be changed his mind. “Be off with you then; I will follow and make certain all remains in order.” She nodded her head. And then she left, trusting that he would keep his word.

Brandon had said to meet him near the copse of trees, the very one she’d carried a conversation behind with Ser Dayne. Lyanna arrived first, looking about with increasing wariness. The moon was out and by all accounts gave enough light that she needn’t feel too frightened. All the same, it suddenly seemed foolish of her to have come. Her mind urged her to return to Rhaegar, to forget all about Brandon and his scheme. What did it matter what the cretin wished for? She needn’t mind him any longer.

Except that she did, for the sound of crunching footfalls reached her ears. Brandon carried a lantern, its meagre light giving off a faint glow, enough of it that he could guide himself by. “I did not think you would come,” he said by way of greeting.

Pressing her lips in a narrow line, she glared. “Do not congratulate yourself just yet. I am only here to make certain you understand a few things.” If only she could slap that smirk off his face. He drew nearer, focusing all of his attention upon her.

“Speak then.” His voice held such arrogance. Just as well, she’d feel a lot better about the set down she’d prepared.

“You, ser, are an unprincipled scoundrel; nothing could induce me to come to your side.” His smile faded. “That is, in essence what I wish to say. If you plan to cause mischief for His Grace, my advice is that you stop.”

“Or what?” he baited. Truly, the man was a piece of work. “Look around you, wench, and come to your senses. I am the one in power here.” He took a step towards her and she took one back.

“This is not a game,” she warned, her back hitting a large tree. There were some fallen braches. If she pretended to cower and fall into the grass, she might get her hands on one. With any luck, she could use it to stab out one of Brandon’s eyes. Let Lord Stark rave about his curse if he would after the shameful conduct of his brood. “Leave now if you do not wish for trouble.”

Or she could call out to Ser Dayne. He said he’s be nearby, but surely he was not near enough to overhear. Much as she wished to hurt him with her own hands, he might retaliate and she had no wish for the tale carried back to Rhaegar to be of such a nature. Who knew what a mind like his could read into it?

She took a deep breath, fully intending to scream at the top of her lungs when a hand connected with her shoulder. Her eyes were on Brandon’s face as the predatory look he wore shifted to one of concerned surprise as he looked to her left. She looked as well.

Two reactions erupted. Relief and annoyance warred within her. That traitor, Dayne, he could be certain she was never coming to him for help again. Gritting her teeth against the anger, she settled a triumphant gaze upon Robert, so as to let him think this had been her plan all along.

 “I say, this is rather unsporting of you, Stark.” Rhaegar held out the slip of paper Brandon had sent her way.

“I thought you relished the challenge,” the Wild Wolf shot back. “Might be I’ve misheard.”

“Any man ought to allow for challenge,” Rhaegar answered, his voice calm, yet at the same time hard. Lyanna felt the hand on her shoulder move lower, to her back. “But what you are doing now is rather akin to poaching. I am willing to overlook it this once, so you had best return home.”

It did not seem to her that the wilful Brandon would. Lyanna was prepared to still call out for Arthur Dayne in spite of his conduct when the sound of heavy hooves splitting the earth rained down upon her ears.

A gasp left her lips as riders invaded the secluded area. A gasp more so levelled at Lord Stark thundering his way down the path towards his wayward son. He looked older than last she’d seen him. Wearier as well. What followed was a confusion of orders and protests, mingled with apologies and an assurance that His Grace need not worry about being intruded upon again. Rickard Stark did not even spare her a glance. Her heart, heavy in her chest already, dropped down into her stomach. The surroundings cleared, leaving Lyanna only with Rhaegar.

“Are you mad at me, Your Grace?” She was mad at herself. She was mad at Brandon. And she was mad at Lord Stark.

Strong hands grasped her shoulders, pushing her back against the tree. She looked him in the eyes, waiting for the words of chastisement. “You are no fool. In the future, if you hide something like this from me again, there will be consequences.”

“I thought only to avoid a scene.” It was true; to some degree.

“You told Arthur.” The hands had moved, stroking their way from her cheeks down her throat. They stopped on her shoulders, thumbs pressed into the jugular hollow warningly. This man could hurt her just as easily as Brandon.

“You said it yourself, I am no fool. I thought he’d aid me and then report the matter back to you.” The thumbs moved in small circles. She continued when he said nothing. “I thought it would be best to be cautious since I know so little of your plans. Lord Stark’s son would deal better with a rejection from me.”

“No fool, but you do not know men.” Fingers dug into the backs of her shoulders. “Your mouth says no, but yet you came, didn’t you?” But she had denied him. Lyanna frowned. “Words are wind; insubstantial and fickle.” He leaned in. The moon was somewhere behind him, falling at just the right angle to create a halo. Lyanna closed her eyes as his forehead pressed against hers and the pressure eased, his hands moving away and beneath the cloak, to her sides.

For a time they stood like that, she with her own thoughts and he with his. Why hadn’t she considered words might not be enough of a deterrent? Words hadn’t kept Rhaegar from his goal; she would have accepted him, in the end, she knew even if he’d used actions instead of words.

“I am so sorry.” She’d not meant to offer an apology. But she felt it and somehow it did not seem wise to keep it in. At the very least she could show him his words were not being ignored. “You must be cold. We ought to get back to bed.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And on this note, I'd say we've had enough of the North.
> 
> I'm thinking this will come up to 6 chapters in the end. Three in the North and three in the South. Seems fair enough to my mind.
> 
> Well, idk how good this chapter is. I've been a bit out of it. Do let me know if it's passable.
> 
> Cheerio!


	4. iv - break and splinter

 

 

 

 

 

 

Staring quizzically at the roasted duck before her, Lyanna hoped that some of the roiling in her stomach might quieten. She speared the butter-bathed mushroom on her plate and forced the blunt edge of her fork down and sideways, cutting through its meaty body. “A tourney, Your Grace?” It was easier to pretend all was well when she didn’t look him directly in the eyes. “Will you be gone long, then?”

She’s been him for such a small amount of time as well. Summer had just passed into winter a moon turn past and she’d been feeling queasy for the past few days. Her head, already made poor by a dull ache, throbbed at the knowledge that the Prince would leave. It was not as though she needed him there, for Lyanna had grown accustomed to Dragonstone in the past few turns. But if he left, there could be only so many reasons for which he’d attend the tourney. The first and foremost of them was the matter of a wife.

He’d had none for quite some time and the servants whispered that the King grew impatient. Lyanna had yet to hear blame laid at her feet for the son’s disobedience towards his father, but it would follow in due time, she was certain. Mustering a small shaky breath after a moment, she brought the dripping mushroom bit to her lips and forced herself to eat it.

Just as soon as her teeth had managed to ground the food into paste, Rhaegar spoke. “You did not think I would leave you here, did you?” With a cough, as the wood did slide the wrong way, Lyanna looked up at him, trying to regain her bearings. Concern flashed across his face for just a moment. “Truly; I mean for you to join me.”

“Your Grace, that cannot be done.” Lyanna was ignorant in many respects of the rules one must follow upon certain occasions. But even she knew that bringing one’s mistress to a great tourney was not something looked upon with kind eyes. Especially not if Rhaegar wished to find a wife and have his heir soon.

“If I say you come with me, then you do so. Let me worry about what can and cannot be done.” She almost laughed at the arrogant reply. Might be he did not mean to wed yet and it was his way of discouraging the young maidens from hoping. “You just do as I say.” As though she’d been doing any differently since her arrival at his home.

With a shake of the head, she returned her attention to the food. Sometimes it seemed to her that Rhaegar was not entirely certain what it was he himself wished for. They parted ways after the meal, he to his solar, to solve some matters which had thus far escaped his attention, and she to her sewing. She’d been doing a lot of that lately, along with weaving. It filled the time beside the reading she managed to do every once in a while and helped her feel somewhat useful.

Mistresses did not wash the floors or help in the kitchens. They did not entertain or see to guests either. It was a lonely sort of existence, to depend upon one sole man for the interaction and affection one needed. In all other respects, Lyanna could find no cause for complaint. She’d been given the best of foods, the costliest of cloths to garb herself in and certainly the prettiest of baubles to adorn herself with. A great, roaring fire burned merrily to warm her chambers, she had servants to fetch this and that for her and she was treated with a great deal of respect by her lover.  

All of it, however, only served to remind her that one day soon, he would find a wife. One day soon he would smile at another woman as he smiled at her. A sharp pain lodged itself in her heart, the thorn of despondency firmly embedded there. It would be that woman then to receive his attentions. And she would be forgotten, wouldn’t she? Just like before, Lyanna would be pushed aside into a small, dark corner and left there to gather dust. Her hands came up to frame her heated face.

“What is it?” Nan’s quivery voice interrupted her litany of sorrows. Lyanna glanced the woman’s way, doing her best to assume a calm mien.

“Naught of importance,” she attempted to convince both Nan and herself. “A stray thought merely worth considering.” Her limbs returned to proper position, fingers picking up the needle once more. “Nan, do you think it is a good idea that I go to the tourney?”

“What does it matter what I believe?” the aged companion replied, a soft smile upon her face. “It is not within my power to stop matters from proceeding as they will.” Lyanna but her lower lip. She chewed thoughtfully. “Are you worried then?”

“I heard that His Majesty insists Rhaegar must wed again.” She had no need to say more. Nan nodded her head, as though to say that she too had heard the rumours. “Do you think he will at least make certain we are well provided for?” She told herself once that she would not rely on Rhaegar for her future; it turned out she had every need of him for her future. “If my suspicions are correct,” she glanced down as she said the words.

“I tell you, girl, this is no ague and the surest way to know it is to look at you. You don’t look flustered and labouring under a fever.” That much was true, although Lyanna wanted to say that she felt plenty sick and would like little better than to see the end of it. “You need but gather the courage to confess it to him. Or visit with the maester. Whichever you find easier on your nerves will do.”

Neither of it was easy on her nerves. If Rhaegar knew, he would have the certainty of this to lean back on while she had nothing but a few words. As for the maester, she had her own reservations. The man might well give her some brew to rid her of the babe. Who knew where his loyalties lay? It was Rhaegar that she must go to, she decided. Yet did it have to be just then? The look on Nan’s face urged her to get up and go, before her courage waned. Not that she had that much of it to begin with.

Mustering up her forces, Lyanna did as the silent urgings commanded. She shook out her skirts, the warm cheery tones stark against the dullness of the floors. “It shan’t take long. Pray continue without me,” she referred to their sewing.

The path to Rhaegar’s solar was a familiar one. She sat there with him, from time to time, him with his concerns and she with her sewing, a picture of perfect domestic bliss. She had to admit that in those moments she  pretended to herself that they were truly bound by holy vows, that she was not a mere mistress but a wife in truth and that their situation would never change. If she were Lyanna Stark, she might have been all those things. But Lya, baseborn and pretty and utterly alone in the world, would never become more than a mistress. And if he could not piece the truth together for himself, that Lya and Lyanna Stark were one and the same, then it did not matter.

The solar door was slightly ajar when she arrived and Lyanna tempered her steps when she heard voiced from within. Curious by nature, she decided against interrupting, recognising both of the speakers. The first was Rhaegar, of course, and the other was Ser Arthur.

While the knight had not precisely endeared himself to her, Lyanna had come to accept that Rhaegar was rather tolerant of the man and allowed him a great deal of leeway when it came to expressing his opinions without fear of repercussions. To hear them in conversation, one would not guess which was the King’s son and which was the mere knight. One day, it would cease to being her wonder, but until such a time came, she would do her best to get her fill of such moments. Lyanna stopped just before she might pass before the slight crack and stood stock still. 

“You do not think it dangerous to toy with your father’s patience like this?” Ser Arthur’s voice held amusement and a good deal of caution. “He’d killed men for less.”

“So he has, but I do not mean to let that cow me. You see, Arthur, my father believes that he may do as he pleases with my life. That, I’m not prepared to allow.” A chuckle came and went. “Besides, it would be inopportune to take a wife now, when I am finally growing closer with Lya.”

Ser Dayne gave a hearty snort. “How much closer can you want to get to a body?” For a moment there was silence before Lyanna detected the soft scraping of wood against stone. She sucked in a breath as the sound got louder, almost as if one of them was rearranging their position.

“You mistake my meaning.” The Prince sounded serious, almost as though the words he said were meant to address more than the mere conversation they were holding in that particular moment. “I suppose I not put it as clearly as I could have either. Beyond the fact that I am unwilling to let my father have his way, a wife would be an insurmountable obstacle between Lya and myself, not because I would hold back on account of another woman’s presence. But she would. She will, if I take a wife.”

“Might be that is for the best. She too may find someone more suited to her.” It wasn’t spoken unfeelingly; Lyanna could tell. She still seethed at the words and barely kept from protesting. A good thing His Grace spoke for her in that when he replied.

“That cannot be contemplated.” Joy swelled within her breast and she waited with baited breath to hear more. She should not have. “I do not mean that she would leave. I told you, Dayne, did I not? But I feel she would close herself off all the more, I barely see beneath that pesky shield of hers in our best of moments.” The blood chilled in her veins. She would not leave; was that so? He seemed so certain, almost as though he himself would block her path. “You are lucky your lady is an open book.”

“Your Grace, did we not agree not to bring her up?” Still reeling, Lyanna allowed herself to lean against the wall. Might be it was best to leave and come another time. Once she had calmed herself down. But Ser Arthur was speaking again and it seemed to concern a secret of sorts. She snapped to attention. “It is difficult enough to know she will be present at the tourney.”

“And in the thick of negotiations from what I heard.” Recognising the note she heard in Rhaegar’s voice, Lyanna flattened herself even further against the wall. “If you let her go through with it, you are a fool.”

“I am a Kingsguard.” It took a few moments to understand they spoke of a potential marriage. Who could have guessed; Ser Dayne, of all men, in love with some unattainable woman.  Served him right, Lyanna told herself, thinking of the way he’d attempted to convince her to leave Rhaegar. She’d not wanted to do such at that time. But might be the matter could do with further contemplation.

“Had you indeed found comfort in your situation, I’d cease. But you are miserable and believe me when I tell you that girl fares no better. Aye, there would be whispers; aye, your brother might refuse you his aid and might be her family will make incessant demands. But there are solutions. I would not even expect you to ask.” She shivered at the power lurking beneath the diatribe. These were orders, she perceived.

“In anything else, I would be tremendously pleased to have your help. But some matters are quite beyond that. “ Lyanna confessed she could not understand. Clearly, Rhaegar was offering to sweep any impediment out of Dayne’s way. He was refusing for some odd reason to take that help; and for the life of her, she swore she could not understand the reasoning behind this manner of behaviour. If someone offered to confer her a higher status, she would definitely grasp at the opportunity with both hands.

But Rhaegar, always one step ahead, seemed to understand. “Does it not have value if you cannot do it on your own?” She imagined he cocked his head to the side as he asked the question, genuine curiosity pouring out.

“To owe you this manner of debt, what does that make me in their eyes? How long before, when you turn your attention away, trouble starts? I know you mean well, but there are times when one must accept the limits set before them.” He was clearly unhappy with the very notion. Lyanna felt a pang of something. The last thing she wanted to feel for Ser Arthur was sympathy. Alas, the story cut too close to the bone for her ignore the similarities.

Rhaegar had said that woman, whoever she was, would be at the tourney. Just as well; she’d have a talk with the chit if she could approach her and might be she’d be able to learn what it was they made such an issue out of. With any luck, one of them, preferably the girl, could be convinced to give to act in sensible fashion.

“You grow entirely too concerned with what the world thinks. If I recall, this not how you used to be.” Might be he’d grown wiser with time; while she did not believe Ser Dayne was correct in his approach to the situation, Lyanna did think she understood some of it better for the exchange she’d heard. The man was clearly trying to protect as many people as he could at the expense of his own happiness, and by manner of consequence the happiness of his lady. It was a noble, valiant effort if completely erroneous in its goals and methods.

But their conversation had to end soon and she had her own news to impart. Straightening, Lyanna arranged the fall of her skirts. It was time to act as though she’d heard naught and knew little. With somewhat shaky hands, she neared the door, lifting one fist to knock. The sound of rapping reverberated through the solar and the hall alike. Lyanna opened the door as she normally would and poked her head in. “My apologies, Your Grace; I see you have company. I shall return later.” She made to retreat.

“Not at all, Lya,” Rhaegar spoke in answer, previously harsh expression dissolving into something more akin to contentment. “Arthur, consider what I said, if you will. Otherwise, be sure to see to what I told you about.” Having not caught that part of the conversation, Lyanna failed to grasp whether it was an important matter or not. She settled for stepping further within the chamber and nodding at the knight as he passed by her.

Closing the distance between herself and the Prince in order to give proper greeting, Lyanna followed that by sitting down in one of the chairs placed near the fire. The weather did not grow as cold as it did in the North this far out by the sea, yet the humidity seeped into the bones, making them ache in the absence of a good fire. “And what brings you by?” Rhaegar questioned, standing in order to move so they might sit together, him facing her.

Lyanna kicked her feet in a somewhat juvenile fashion, as she considered the best way to approach the situation. “There was something I wished to discuss with you.” That was one of those answers too vague to tell and anything and more likely to garner the Prince’s ire. Thankfully, his mood was not as such that it would go to anger so soon.

“Was? Is the matter no longer of import then?” The sole of her slippered foot rested against his boot covered shinbone. Her lips pursed as tough she’d swallowed something  sour and Lyanna considered fibbing. But that would bring her naught and he would find out sooner or later, would he not?

“It will continue to be of some importance for a while longer yet, I imagine,” she answered in the end. Rolling her shoulders before she set them as a soldier before battle might, Lyanna stared Rhaegar straight into the eye as she spoke. “I believe I am with child.”

For a brief moment nothing happened. He stared at her as though he could not comprehend the words. Her heart froze mid-beat. The very world around them paused, holding its breath as to what sort of reaction her confession would engender. And just as soon as the moment came, it went. The silence broke; her heart returned to its normal beating, the world let out a long breath and tension splintered against the very speedy movement of her lover.

“Are you certain?” His hands were heavy on her shoulders, fingers digging into the bones there. He did not seem as much surprised as he was desperate. A strange enough reaction, if one were to ask Lyanna. She’d expected some incredulity at least, or some manner of worry for a baseborn babe. There was none of that, however and she had to make do with what he gave. Lyanna nodded her head empathically.

“I have asked Nan as well, and she agrees.” Nan was no maester, of course, but she’d had children and grandchildren and knew what she spoke of when she presented Lyanna with the possibility. She was lifted out of her chair and hoisted up into strong, warm arms. Lyanna gave a squeak at the force of his hold and hugged back. Her ribcage protested this treatment, but she found it less objectionable given the circumstances.

When she was finally allowed to feel solid ground beneath her feet, Lyanna was somewhat lightheaded. He seemed pleased about the babe. But then mistresses were not precisely supposed to have babes, were they? Growing more and more confused by the minute, she ventured out a question. “You are not worried about this, Your Grace?”

“Worried?” Something dark passed just behind his gaze before if was shuttered away, out of light, out of sight. “Why would I be worried?” Her lips trembled with the effort of finding some answer. There had to be, for Rhaegar did not quite sound like himself. Instead of delving further into the matter, Lyanna chose to offer a thin smile.

“Precisely. There is naught to worry about.” Her smile grew in accordance to the words she did not believe herself. “But I was thinking Your Grace might wish to rethink taking me to the tourney, such being the circumstances.” She knew beyond the shadow of the doubt the purpose of the gathering. And in spite of her earlier plans pertaining to the lady Ser Dayne so admired, she would be displeased if someone poked their nose into her private matters and she imagined he would too. Some things were better left alone.

Rhaegar did not agree. “On the contrary; it makes me want you with me at the tourney even more.” He stroked a path down her sides. “It doesn’t seem quite real to me yet.” He wanted proof. Lyanna blinked uncertainly. “Besides, shouldn’t a man be allowed to enjoy his victories at leisure?”

What an odd thing to say. Given she couldn’t truly let on she knew about the purpose of the tourney, Lyanna was forced to concede that a man was entitled to his pleasure. “But I’ve heard that women don’t travel well when with child. I would not wish to burden anyone unduly.”

“You could not be a burden if you tried.” He kissed the top of her head. “I will be more than pleased to have you with me, as I said. Aside from which, what will you do here, all on your own?” He gestured towards the space behind them, as though to point out she had no activity to see to.

“The babe will need to be garbed once he’s born. I could work on that.” Something like a chuckle left Rhaegar. “Or I could see to altering the kyrtles that I have. I don’t doubt they shall not fit me when it becomes apparent I am with child.”

“There are other hands for that.” He took hers as he spoke, holding it up into the light. “You are not allowed to strain yourself with this sort of labour.” It wasn’t truly a bother, she wished to say. But Rhaegar seemed determined. “If you must, you may embroider. I don’t suppose I may take that from you. But for all else, I demand you make use of the servants. That is why they’re here; to see to your needs.” For as long as their master commanded so; Lyanna did not doubt she was placed in good hands. All the same, she did not wish to come face to face with the hands pushing the pawns across the board, as would happen should she indeed go to the tourney.

But the pieces had been set and she found herself travelling to the tourney as per His Grace’s wishes. To her relief, yet in the early turns her babe did not show as much as she would have thought. Her girdle did indeed whisper of a soft roundness to her middle, more pronounced than before, but she imagined that would not be paid all that much attention. After all, the King’s subjects would be much too busy whispering about the mere fact that a mistress was involved to begin with.

Lord When was the host for the occasion. He was a portly man, with soft, red-gold curls framing a ruddy face. He inspected her with some interest at their arrival, commenting that he wouldn’t have expected it of Rhaegar of all men, but all the same, seemed pleasant enough. “Will Your Grace join the joust?”

“I have a mind to.” He threw his arm around her waist and pulled her into his side, as he continued, “One must strive to always appear in the best of lights in beloved eyes.” Rhaegar had not, during their time together, been overly overt with his affection by way of words. There were touches and glances aplenty. But loving endearments had been thus far lacking.

“So one must,” their host agreed before seeing them on their way to a large chamber which Lyanna understood they were to share due to the high attendance. Rhaegar seemed only too pleased with the way the matter turned out. For her own part, Lyanna did not quite know what to make of his insistence that they remain quite so close together .

“Your Grace, might be His Majesty will not see this with kind eyes. I am certain Lord Whent might find other accommodations for me if you asked.” He blinked down at her, as though considering her point.

“I do not care for my father’s opinion in this,” he answered simply, lifting her so as to better deposit her upon the bed. They’d arrived just after sundown, tired and spent. The food the servants brought up for them was nourishing and aided, even Lyanna’s recently turned fussy stomach accepted the fare with little grumbling, though she was uncertain how well she’d feel come morning. As to that, however, she did not think too much upon the matter, pleased to fill her stomach with warm food.

They slept after, lost to the world. Travel tended to take its toll even on the best of days and a pregnant woman was never quite on her best of days, Lyanna had come to find. Even with carefully crafted accommodations, such as a padded wheelhouse and smooth roads, she was forced to concede that they would have travelled much faster without her frequent need for stops. Not that the Prince had complained about it. He seemed relieved to see her act in a manner liable to confirm her words. And she left him to his relief, unwilling to press further into the matter. He would tell her at some point, she suspected.

The night’s sleep was restful, replenishing her forced enough that when she woke, her eyes still sticky with sleep and hair slightly tangled, Lyanna was pleased to find her body did not reject its what she had earlier ingested. In fact, she woke with an acute need for more food. Someone must have anticipated her very desire, for there was a platter already placed on a table before the fire.

Rhaegar had woken before her, as was his custom, and had likely ridden off with the lord of the house. She’d not expected his presence but it somehow galled her still to find him gone. He’d doubtlessly meet some of the beauties come to the tourney in hopes of catching the Prince’s eye. Daughters of great and small houses alike. Her appetite diminished.      

Lyanna glanced at the looking glass placed out of the way, near the wall. Well, little wonder if he should find a woman he liked better among their numbers, she thought to herself, as she took in the image she presented. Her fingers combed through the birds’ nest that was her hair with a grimace. Might be there were a bit more knots in there than she had previously imagined.

She could not be thinking like that, Lyanna admonished. Might be His Grace would choose a wife in spite of his words. And that was his duty. She’d known as much. Why then was she contemplating coming clean about her ties to House Stark? She hoped, of course, it might soften him to a potential deeper bond between them. One sealed by matrimonial vows. She bit hard into her lower lip, trying to recall to mind the reason for which she’d not brought the matter up with him.

The child within her deserved a place at his father’s side. If it was a son, Rhaegar would have an heir. Born of worthy blood. If only he’d insist upon it, she would feel a lot better. There was something to be said about having one’s arm twisted. Now if only her sire knew of her current predicament. Would that not fulfil his ambitions better than any of his sons had thus far managed? She snorted. How far could one fall? Lyanna looked away from her reflection, deciding she had best eat some more.

There was some comfort to be found in the action itself. When one had something to do, one did not tend to concentrate so very much on the matters occupying one’s mind when idle. The morning wore on and as time advanced, Lyanna realised she could not remain locked into Rhaegar’s chambers, no matter how uncomfortable she was in that moment. With that in mind, Lyanna washed and dressed with care, expecting that their host’s reaction would be mirrored by other participants and guests gathered for the tourney.

The corridor was deserted when she stepped out. Not even a servant lurked about, which gave her quite some leeway as far as observing her surroundings was concerned. She found her way into the yard where men and horses and stable hands ran about. The tourney would not begin for some time yet. And there would be some time yet before the knights in their heavy armours pranced about. She smiled as a young squire sped past her, seeming at wit’s end. He wondered what his knight had asked of him.

For her part, she attempted to keep out of the way and soon enough was on the path to the stables. Not all the stalls were full and some of the horses looked as though they’d had a good run beforehand; coat gleaming with sweat. A filly, long-legged and toned, nickered as a stable hand attempted to brush her mane. Lyanna could not help but grin at the way her hooves pounded the earth. She approached the stall in order to catch a better glimpse. The man working his brush through the mare’s hair paused for just a moment to nod at her. There were no words exchanged as there was nothing to be said.

It was not long before he was done with his work and left the filly to feel her way around the stall. “What a beautiful girl you are; I wonder who will ride you during the joust.” The mare had no answer for her. Horses did not respond, of course.

Given there was very little she could do for the horse, she found it easy to tear herself away from the mare and her shiny coat. Without an even greater amount of people found their way about, some in groups, some alone. Briefly, Lyanna felt so very alone that she wanted to scream out. Only briefly, though, for before long she was walking once more, attempting to not bump into anyone. A feat in itself, considering the sheer amount of human activity.

A less populated area seemed to be the wooded section of the enormous tract of land Lord Whent presided over. Lyanna walked on foot, a lifetime of doing so having instilled in her a love of exercise. There were small, narrow paths one could take, paths which did not see the weight of human feet very often. She enjoyed her solitary moments, accompanied only by the thrill of the occasional bird. To her great surprise, she came across a carved weirwood tree.

The face staring back at her was neither pleased, nor unhappy, but seemed perpetually set in a look of wonder. Might be to signal its feelings regarding the creations of the gods. Were they too taken aback by way in which their little vessels of clay shaped the world they’d been placed in? Not inclined to much prayer due to a great many circumstances, Lyanna nevertheless, knelt in front of the three and gave a few words of thanks to the deities, for her son. She justified a great many things with the existence of a babe she was certain would be a boy.

She placed a hand on the place where the little life rested and rubbed gently. She wondered if he could feel her, and the love she already had for him. Cocking her head to the side as soon as she heard the snapping of twigs, she bent her head in prayer once more, wondering who could be lurking about.

Soft sound rose up from behind her. The rustling of cloth, heavy footfalls and a couple of voices. She breathed in, counting the moments in her mind before she breathed out. It helped calm her some. The voices drew nearer until they invaded the small, intimate space. She stood, turning around to face whoever it was that came towards her.

A man and a woman stood before her. The man was of middling height, with shaggy dark hair. He wore decent enough garbs if a little wanting in terms of sturdiness. Still, he did not seem as though he were some vagrant. The woman, fair-haired, slim and tall, wore a plain dark kyrtle, adorned by a girdle made of cloth as opposed to finely plaited sliver or gold. Somewhat put at ease by the portrait the two painted, Lyanna nodded towards them, making towards the opposite direction. While she no longer feared them, she had no wish to converse.

“Wait a moment,” the female addressed her, her step hurried. “Just a moment, my lady.” Lyanna paused long enough to give her a questioning look. “Are you not the lady come with His Grace?” So word of her presence had spread already.

Taking a deep breath, Lyanna set to rectifying the misconceptions. “Indeed, I am come with His Grace, but I doubt many would call me lady. If you would be so kind, I must be on my way.”

“So you are truly merely a mistress?” Sucking in her lower lip in order to keep from delivering a few choice words, Lyanna did her best to nod her head. Her face felt hot. The woman must have realised the effect of her words for she attempted to smooth them over. “I did not mean to put you ill at ease. We were just curious, you see, for they said His Grace had a lover from the among the number of the smallfolk.”

“Well, be assured that you have your confirmation.” She did not suppose she could remain upset at the duo. Many would have been a lot less gracious about the whole matter. “If you will excuse me, I truly must be on my way.” Might be she would have better luck and run into Ser Dayne, he, at least, would not  insist upon reminding her of what she was.

Once more, however, she was forced to a halt. Warm hands gripped her own. “Truly, I did not wish to upset you. I pray you, do not leave on our account. Simon and I are only passing through these here woods out of curiosity. ‘Tis not everyday that one has the chance to see the Crown Prince. Is he as gallant as they say?”

“Of course,” she answered good-naturedly. Rhaegar was deserving of praise even when she did not particularly feel like entertaining other souls. “He is kind beyond measure.” She smiled.

“Unlike his sire.” That was the aforementioned Simon. Lyanna gave him a more attentive look. His voice was thin, not particularly pleasant. What’d grabbed her attention, however, was the way in which he said those words. As though he knew from experience.

His companion scowled. “Pay him no mind. He talks a lot and means naught of what he says. But we have kept you long enough. Pray, do be on your way.” No sooner were the words spoken that she was on her way once more, the incident forgotten.

Might be Lord Whent allowed the smallfolk to move freely about where tourneys were involved. After all, one did not have much of a chance to see the great nobles otherwise. Smiling at the particular thought, Lyanna considered that some members of the smallfolk did not know how lucky they were not to be taken notice of.

Her wish came true as well. Ser Arthur had been out and about on his own walk when she came upon him. Looking somewhat more tired than shed previously seen him, the man paused in order to greet her. “You did not expect me to be out?” she questioned at the look upon his face.

“I did not expect His Grace to leave you on your own.” She hadn’t either, but then Rhaegar could not be expected to stick to her at all times. He had his own plans, she imagined. “Would you care to join me?” He offered his arm, a gesture reminiscent of their first meeting.

She took him up on his offer. They walked in uneasy silence for a time. She did not know what to say to him, given her earlier plans and did not know how to encourage him to speak either. In the end she gave up and decided to be blunt. “Ser, do you think man ought to be concerned with love more than with honour, or the other way around?”

He regarded her for a few moments. “Has someone upset you? You must not hesitate to let me know if someone attempts to do so.” Truly, Rhaegar ought to find something else for the man to do. She did not think she could come to him again with something of that nature.

“Not at all. I am merely curious to know your thoughts upon the matte. So, ser, love or honour?” Her demand was met with silent consideration. Lyanna allowed her hand to fall away from his arm, opting to clasp both her hands behind her back as she watched him.

“I wish I could say I had an answer for you, but I fear that is not the case.” They’d reached a somewhat populated area, attracting the attention of quite a few eyes. Lyanna moved slightly behind him, using him as a manner of shield. He did not seem to notice. “I’ve asked myself the very same question over and over again.”

“And still have come to no answer. That, ser, sounds like the making of a tragedy for me.” In mummery, of course, it was precisely the case that values of equal worth clashed and battled, dragging some of its heroes down to tell or raising them to unimaginable heights. She’d read once that the aim of such tales was to purge its audience of undisclosed sorrows beyond teaching them a lesson. She supposed it made sense.

“A tragedy,” he echoed. She wondered whether he would disclose more to her. But Ser Dayne had his own dose of cleverness. “That is a father daunting subject to be contemplating. Have you might be begun considering my words with greater care?”

“Not with as great care as you would have me consider them with,” she confessed, feeling better for the distraction. She’d not even noticed she had stepped out from behind him and walked leisurely at his side. “But the more I consider the matter, the more I am left perplexed.”

“Whatever do you mean?” he prompted when she failed to continue.

“I mean that in my mind, I wish I could say one is better than the other, that either holds more value; but it seems to me that we speak here of one singe value to begin with.” Interest sparked to life in the knight’s face and he urged her to continue. “Consider the following, ser; to love is merely to honour another beyond the manner in which one honours the gods, or might be the great minds of our forefathers. At the same time, honour itself is based in love. One cannot possibly honour something one does not cherish.”

They paused near a tree, he leaning against it, she standing straight, awaiting his reaction. Ser Arthur took his time. She wondered what went on in his head; there was an expression upon his face, one she could not explain very well if she were asked to, but one that nevertheless resonated with her all the more for knowing the source of his inner conflict.

“You are saying there is no choice to be had?” he asked in the end, seeming genuinely interested in her answer. It was her turn to consider the matter.

“There is always some choice to be made. Love itself comes in many forms. I suppose the true battle must be between these fragmentary understandings, as one cannot quite encompass all.” She produced a thoughtful sound. “But I confess, I haven’t given this much though. Truly, ser, it was merely a question to ask.”

“Somehow I very much doubt that.” It was not that he was wrong, it was merely that he was being arrogant. Lyanna shot him a venomous look. He responded with a smirk. “I think you have been intently considering matters; more so than you wish to admit.” Not that it would help her to arrive at any decision given the fact Rhaegar seemed loathe to part with her for the time being.

“Irrespective of what I have or have not been doing, I do not see how concentrating so much of your attention upon me is liable to be of any aid to you, ser.” She would have said more, but more the loud grasp cutting between the two of them like a knife might through butter.

A woman stood before them. The first thing that hit Lyanna was the uncommon beauty her shape bore. Tall and shapely, she filled a long, flowing kytle. Her face, a face which might well be the face of the maiden, was pleasant in its features, arresting with its deep, violet gaze. Waves of dark hair spilled over the woman’s shoulder and back. She looked as what Lyanna imagined a queen of the old legends must have looked like.

“Arthur, what is the meaning of this?” Her voice, however, was not quite as pleasant as the rest of her. There was something familiar about it, almost as though she’d heard it before. Not that Lyanna had; she would have remembered such a face.

“I do not know, Ashara,” he replied in an almost contemptuous manner, “what is the meaning of this?” Jolted out of her haze, Lyanna looked between the two of them. The woman was frowning and the knight scowled fiercely.

“Well, you do not need to be like that.” A thought struck her. Was this the one? Eyes widening, Lyanna attempted to discern something more in the way they interacted. However, beyond a vague sense of annoyance, she could not discover anything else for the life of her.

“A bit inconstant, aren’t we?” mocked the Kingsguard. He crossed his arms over his chest and proceeded with some much needed introductions. “This brat here is my sister, Ashara,” he nodded towards the newcomer. Lyanna’s jaw almost dropped for the shock of that particular discovery. “Ashara, Lya; His Grace asked me to keep her safe.”

“So this is her?” Goodness, word had truly travelled. A chuckle left the woman’s lips. “You are not what we were expecting.”

“We?” Arthur repeated, giving his sister a pointed look.

“You cannot expect that His Grace do such thing and no one talk of it. Indeed, ‘twas all the court could talk about. But I am relieved now that I have finally seen her.” Somehow that did not please Lyanna. She felt almost as though a rival who’d been measured up and found wanting. “The King was displeased.”

“That man is always displeased,” the knight shot back. “Come, Lya; His Grace must be missing you by now.”

“Somehow I doubt he has the time. What with the many wishing his attention.” Lyanna bristled at what she heard resting just beneath the woman’s pleasant surface. “By the by, brother dearest; Her Majesty has brought along a favourite young lady of hers. Just so you never say I have never done anything for you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, idk what to say about this chapter except that it was a major b** to write and I really hope it was worth the effort.


	5. v - tide, ebb and flow

 

 

 

 

 

 

His lady mother did not look pleased. Rhaegar nevertheless maintained a cheerful mien, or as cheerful as he would ever look. Which was to say he wasn’t frowning. “How could you?” the woman before him demanded, her voice full of reproach. “And to bring her here in full view of the realm.” She’d decided pleasantries were to be entirely skipped in favour of a good lecturing to. “Must you shame the occasion so?”

“Why, lady mother, I am hardly the first of this family to have my lover accompany me to a tourney.” Blushing furiously, the Queen stammered out a reply. He couldn’t quite understand her point, lost as it was between the stuttered condemnations coming out of her mouth. He did catch some of her unfounded opinions, however, and though he knew it should not matter, he gave into his initial urge to protest. “Lya is not at all like that, lady mother. She is kind and gentle.” And loving, though that he suspected was best not shared with his lady mother of all people. It wouldn’t do to share too much of Lya.

“Ha, kind and gentle. Next you’ll tell me she has pretty manners and can match any lady.” Wagging her finger, his mother set off on yet another tirade. “That’s the trouble with you men; you never see beyond a pretty face. Well let me tell you, her beauty won’t last forever and her charms will wane. What’s bred in the bone, though, never fades. And that,” she struggled o find her words, “that loose little strumpet–“

“She is nothing of the sort.” Gone was the somewhat humorous approach of before. “You will speak of her in a civil manner, my lady, or you shan’t speak of her at all.” It needled him beyond belief that his choice would be so easily disregarded. “Have you known me to associate with such women to begin with? I tell you, Lya is a perfectly agreeable girl.”

“If you have something to give her, I don’t doubt,” his elder shot back. “But that won’t last. Women like her cannot be trusted as far as one can throw them. In fact, do you know where she is right now?” He smiled at the attempt and nodded dutifully, stating that he knew her to be in Arthur’s company. As to which little bird had whispered in his ear of that, his mother need not know. Since Rhaella Targaryen was aware of Arthur’s nature, she could not brazenly make accusations on that score. “Trust you me, throw her some bait and she’ll leave faster than you can imagine. In fact, let me show you.”

“I am not so foolish as to allow you to pressure the poor girl.” There had been enough of that, to his mind, to last her a lifetime. And one had to be careful with pregnant women.

“You wound me.” He didn’t believe so, but allowed he might be wrong. “I said bait her into leaving, not force her.” She had done similar thing to his father’s mistresses upon occasions. Being as she was the Queen and her rage over these, oftentimes, pitiful creatures, no one had ever reprimanded her for it. His father had not cared enough, except might be to find another woman to warm his bed and the court preferred the gossip to idleness.

“Very well; I will allow you to try, if you must. But know this, if you go too far, I will step in.” His mother snorted. “I mean it.”

“I am certain you do.” Stepping away from him, she summoned one of her ladies-in-waiting, instructing her to find the girl called Lya. “She keeps company with Ser Dayne, to my understanding. Do hurry about it.” It was only after that she deigned to look upon him. “Well, go away now; she cannot see you here when she arrives.”

“I beg your pardon?” As if he would leave Lya in his mother’s hands and trust no harm to come to her. Rhaegar hadn’t been born the day before.

“How can you expect me to persuade her if you are here?” They argued over the matter for a few minutes before a long sigh left his mother’s lips. “Very well, you may sit in the adjoined room. We shall leave a small opening through which you may hear the conversation. Will that do?” He would have preferred to see it as well; but he supposed he shouldn’t push his luck.

And so it was that Rhaegar found himself sitting in a comfortable chair, eyeing an almost closed door with a burning desire to leap out of his hiding spot, grab Lya and make off with her. Lya, he knew, held him in some affection in spite of her unwillingness to open up to him entirely. But would that be enough to keep her by his side if his mother began meddling into the matter? He did not trust their bond nearly enough to remain calm at the notion that she might yet be swayed. He’d promised her a comfortable life, but that was in the power of any one person with an abundance of coin to give. And if his lady mother somehow divined a desire he’d not seen reflected into Lya’s eyes, she would not hesitate to use it to her advantage. Such were his thoughts when he heard the soft shuffling of feet, along with the reedy voice of the woman dispatched on the Queen’s business, announcing that she had brought the guest along.

He could not see her though the door, but her presence remained a nearly palpable fact. A soft greeting was spoken in a perfectly innocuous manner but something held his attention. Lya mostly spoke in a proper fashion, her enunciation as pretty as a noblewoman’s. Why was she suddenly speaking more like a girl of the smallfolk when it was not her custom? Before he could dwell any longer upon the matter, his lady mother began her attack.

“You are not as pretty as I imagined.” Annoyance gripped him. What a petty thing to say. “When I was told my son had taken a mistress, I’d imagines someone the equal of Shiera Seastar.” He almost rolled his eyes at that. He’d seen a portrait of the famed beauty once. He could safely say the tales were greatly exaggerated, as they often were. “Come closer then; I wish to have a good look at you.”

Lya did not respond to any of these challenges, which gave him good reason to be proud of her. He knew her to be clever and she kept rewarding the trust he had in her. His mother interrupted his musings. “Where do you hail from, girl?”

“Winter Town, by Winterfell, Y’er Majesty.” It was a curt reply, given with just a hint of hesitation.

“Aye; how else could you have placed yourself in the path of Lord Stark’s son as well?” A chuckle followed. “You thought I did not know? I’ve seen hundreds of your ilk in my day. All these women are now gone for I have triumphed against them.” He imagined his dame sported a rather smug look. “And who are your people?”

Another beat of silence. “I am no one, if that is the point Your Majesty is trying to make.” There it was, the proper speech and a spark of anger. Lya was lovely when she smiled and she was lovely when her face was animated, even if what drove her was anger. “Aye; I have no strong family to stand behind me. May that please Your Majesty.”

“What an impudent girl you are. I could have you flogged.” He did believe his lady mother was intrigued.

“I do believe that would be unwise,” Lya returned. He could just imagine her face. “If Your Majesty is satisfied, pray allow me to retreat.”

“You may not. Sit over there.” He assumed Lya listened for before long his mother spoke once more. “I am not truly insensitive. You must have had a difficult life.” Lya gave no reply. “But even so, understand my son is not for you. Instead, let me provide you with a stipend. You may live out the rest of your days on a generous sum, plus, of course, a great deal of parting gifts that boy is sure to heap upon you. All you must do is part from him.”

That had not taken as long as he’d expected. He waited with baited breath to hear an answer, but instead her only heard the rustling of cloth and a familiar tone. “What do you think you are doing?”

“I am returning to my place, Your Majesty; I believe His Grace will be displeased if he finds me gone upon his return.” For a brief moment, Rhaegar considered abandoning his hiding place. But then he was well-aware the battle had just begun. Thus he relaxed in his seat, unclenching his fingers with some effort.   

“You inconsiderate brat; I demand you sit back down. Do you truly think this can last? Are you that stupid that you cannot understand the reason behind this tourney?“ Impatient as always. At least she had refrained from offering threats; which was more than he’d expected.

“I know little about such matters, Your Majesty. If His Grace no longer has need of me, I expect he shall tell me himself.” His bright girl was winning all on her own. He’d been worried over naught. ”Your Majesty, in this world, the lot of a woman is determined by the men she allies herself to. I have found a kind master in His Grace and would not easily part with him. Not even for a cartful of silver and gold.”

“He will wed before the year is out.” He would not, but Rhaegar was willing to watch their attempts at forcing him into it. “Do you truly think his lady wife will tolerate your presence?”

“These matters are not for me to speak about. All I know is that I am in His Grace’s hands. His lady wife is irrelevant.” He easily recognised the ice in her voice and shuddered softly to hear her speak so. It was not fear, however, which caused his reaction. If he’d wanted a sign, that had been it.

“I will have you know I’ve selected only the best for my son and you would do better to claim the aid I offer unless you wish to find yourself not only cast out, but put at disadvantage. Do not think your pretty face may carry you through everything.” He stood.

“I will not leave His Grace no matter the threats, so I suppose I must accept the danger.” Not while he was around to protect her. Rhaegar pushed the door open just in time to see hi lady mother preparing to strike. He caught her with ease, stopping her blow.

“Time to admit defeat, lady mother. I told you she would never leave me.” A bet was a bet, after all, and though a sore loser, his dame did know when to leave matters be. “We shall be taking out leave.”

“Do not think this is the end of it,” she warned even as Rhaegar put a hand on the small of Lya’s back, helping to guide without the chamber.

As soon as her feet had hit the floors of the corridor, she picked up her skirts and was off, carelessly allowing him a glimpse of her ankles. He followed at a leisure pace, not bothering to call after her. Even running she was not that fast that their separate arrivals were far apart. What did happen was that once the door closed behind him, Lya’s hand reached for a half-empty pitcher and threw it his way. It missed, falling and breaking at his feet, spraying wine in all directions. She followed that with a trencher and then cups.

Her abuse of the household objects was ended when he caught her by the arms. She still used her fists to pound against his chest, a few choice words leaving her lips. Or rather a great deal of words, most of which centred around insulting him. Occasionally she cast aspersions at herself for folly and credulity. He let her tire herself out before giving her a good shake along with a command to stop. “Enough, Lya.”

Her jaw ticked almost imperceptibly. She sucked in her lower lip, as though in deep thought before tugging herself free of his hold. Her eyes sought his. He did not know what it was she wished to see and could not guess at her intentions when she turned around, her back to him, and walked towards one of the coffers. The large one at the end of the bed remained untouched as she moved more towards the smaller one near the wall, grabbing a comb which had been carelessly thrown upon the bed.

“What are you doing?” The pause during which gathered silence rankled. Whether she was deliberate in her behaviour or simply upset, as he was coming to understand, and unaware of the effects her actions had, it was nigh impossible to tell.

“It should be obvious,” she uttered after some time. “I am going home.” Home, where? He cocked his head to the side. Lya was a creature of passion, often unthinking in her approaches to the troubles she encountered. This quality showed in her solutions as well. Impulsive though she might be, there were times when her natural reaction begged curtailing.

“Explain yourself.”  A baleful glare replied to his demand. Since words did not seem to reach her, he decided it was past time for another method altogether. Approaching from behind, he slammed the lid of her trunk shut and forced her around. “I do not know what has gotten into you, but I advise you to consider your actions with more care.”

“Let go of me.” Given her size relative to his and the fact she bad no manner of weapon upon her, he disregarded the threat he heard in her voice. “I said, let go.”

“I don’t have a mind to.” He pushed her back, manipulating the trajectory so that the backs of her knees hit the bed. She sat down. “What is this about?” He sat down next to her, arm around her waist.

Her lower lip quivered. “Am I some sort of pet you tug and push as you will?” Lya questioned, hand fisted in her lap. “Have you no consideration for my feelings?” Something like tears glistened in her eyes. He didn’t understand. Certainly his lady mother had been harsh in her approach, but this was hardly the first time Lya had confronted such words. “In any event, I hope Your Grace is thoroughly satisfied, for I shall never again allow myself to be so humiliated.”

He’d thought the words had glanced off of her. It turned out they’d pierced her as surely as an arrow would have. She wiped away at her eyes. There were only so many options he had. Rhaegar pulled her into him, her side resting against his front. “It had to be done. She would not have given up until she had her chance and you have thwarted her.”

“A queen is a frightening enemy to have.” He did not suppose her anger had left, yet her interest was engaged. If naught else, interest could be worked with. “And you have put me in her path. For what reason? Is this amusing to you, Your Grace?”

“If you wish to know the truth, I was curious.” She blinked up at him, her mien changing ever so slowly. “My lady mother would not have harmed you.” Not upon the particular occasion just past, but he supposed there was some truth within Lya’s words. “And in any event, I shan’t allow her to harm you in the future.”

Lya stood, she moved away from him, pacing the chamber floors. Back and forth she went, her feet beating a soft pattern against the rug beneath her. “I wonder, Your Grace, how one can misunderstand another so thoroughly?” He watched her, settling more comfortably in his spot as he waited for her to elaborate. “If you are curious on a matter, why not simply ask? I do not ask that you take all my answers at face value, but I prefer to know where I stand.“

“So if I ask, you will answer.” It wasn’t a question. Lya nodded anyway. “Tell me then, why does it seem to me you dither to and fro, only ever one step away from retreating back into your shell? Why is it that I know as little now about you, as I did when we met?”

“There is naught of note to know about me, Your Grace. Have you considered it might be the case, I simply ordinary and you shall find no great secrets no matter how much you struggle to?” He had. He simply did not believe it to be the case. And her protests did seem to him a tad too strong. “Pray, tell me what it is that gnaws at you.”

“Your infuriating tendency to evade being known.” Climbing to his feet, he stopped her progress. “You are fascinating, but a mystery that never gives becomes frustrating after a time.” His forbearance was slowly leeching away. “If you shan’t tell me, I will still find out what it is you’re hiding.”

“I hide nothing.” The rigidity left her limbs. She relaxed into him and the soft scent of her bathing oils wafted around the chamber, carried by a gentle breeze. He held her for a moment, considering the words. While he found he could not believe her, it did a poor idea to challenge her further. He’d made himself clear and that would have to be enough for the moment.

“Take some time to rest,” he spoke gently, effectively closing the door on their earlier conversation. Lya listened, though she did not seem precisely thrilled to be sent off without some indication of what his thoughts were.

He went on his way, leaving her to both calm and compose herself. For his part, he well knew his father awaited him in Lord Whent’s solar. The particular chamber was not difficult to find in spite of the keep’s sheer size, nor was the presence of the Kingsguards at the chamber’s entrance to be missed.

His sire, joined by a put upon looking Daeron, greeted his arrival with a harsh look and some remonstration on keeping him waiting. “Must you strive to aggravate me at every turn?” Rhaegar did not answer that question. Much as he’d enjoy causing the man that manner of a reaction, he feared his sire was not at all prepared to accommodate him in spite of the words.

“Your Majesty, I do not understand what I have done to merit such a reception.” His brother gave a suggestive smile at that, one which Rhaegar did his best not to return. He sat down without waiting for an invitation.

“That won’t wash,” Daeron cut in. “I’ve seen that girl of yours, brother, and I must say, I am most curious. Why did you bring her here?” Daeron, as was his custom, awaited the answer with patience. His brother was always looking to outdo him in scale, even upon such exploits as those not precisely admirable. His father, however, was nowhere near as composed.

“Not since Aegon the fifth was the court so scandalised.” That he doubted. Rhaegar endured the lecture with stoicism. “Of all things, to bring a savage wench and place her right under our noses. Have you no respect at all for Lord Whent’s guests and for the needs of the realm?” Proceeding in such a vein, the King was soon out of breath, having worked himself into quite a state.

Changing tack, with a great deal more grace, Daeron made his own point. “It is unlikely any maiden present will look kindly upon the girl. It would have been better to have her stay on Dragonstone, brother, where she need not bring harm to our lady mother’s plans.”

 “She is with child.” The words were easier to speak than he’d anticipated. “I could not very well leave her and still see how the pregnancy evolves. Much as I trust our maester, his reports can only cover so much.”

“If she’d breeding why did you not sent her to King’s Landing at once?” The King stood with a jerky motion. “At the very least have a skilled midwife keep her company. Have you gone soft in the head to let her wander about as she does?” Of course it would be safest for her to sit in one place and not move about too much; but he suspected such a course of action would not be met with favourable attitude by Lya. “Damn and blast; it would take too long to search for an appropriate companion now.”

Something like worry flickered across the boyish visage of his brother. “We could always have her sent to King’s Landing straight away. The journey wouldn’t be that long.”

“Out of the question,” Rhaegar protested. “The roads are dangerous even under heavy guard.” All manner of villainous scum wandered the beaten paths in search of prey. He would rather not place Lya and their babe in the path of such creature if it could be helped; and it could as long as she was by his side. “Besides, brother mine, ‘tis I who has the investment here. Lya stays with me.”

“’Tis you who has the folly indeed. The birthing chamber is no matter for men to meddle into. We will make the truth known to your lady mother at once and I will in the meantime speak to Lord Whent. There must be some decent midwife who can keep an eye on this until trusted aids are available to us.” His poor mother, that bit of news was sure to put a bit of a damper on her plans. Rhaegar wondered for a moment just whose heart he’d be breaking in his dame’s estimation, then decided he did not truly care. What mattered was that Lya had to be safe.

“Be that as it may, she remains in my care. Your Majesty may, of course, know of the progress of this matter, but I believe ‘tis I who must take responsibility first and foremost.“ It would not be a repeat of the last time, he promised himself. He wouldn’t let it. He couldn’t let it.

“What can you possibly do if she decides to go against us?” There were some things even a Prince could not accomplish. One of them being stopping nature in its course. Of course, there were some ways around the outcome he most feared and they had to do with timely intervention. His sister had begun her pregnancy much in the same way Lya had; joyful and proud of her accomplishment. And for a time she flourished.

Rhaegar hadn’t watched her too closely. There were maesters and midwives for that; his elders as well. He’d argued to himself at the time that they knew better and it wouldn’t do to press for every tiny bit of information. It would come. And it did; just not in the way he would have expected it. He could still recall the incredulous flavour painting his sister’s words as she told him the creature in her was not a babe.

It had seemed a jest to him at the time. He’d even attributed it to the kicking and turning the child did; it left his kin tired and in pain after restless nights and harrowing days. And she had been sick long into it; more often than not she could be found heaving away. Of course she would resent her situation some, his mind had whispered. And he could do little other than offer her pity. Some women had a harder time of it than others had been the only thing the maesters could say before they pressed some potion or another upon his sister.

Naught relieved her suffering. Naught had convinced her that there truly was a babe within her and not some monstrous creature wishing to tear her apart. The more insistent she grew, the more he drew away from her, leaving her to the maesters. That must have been his mistake. He shouldn’t have left her, for Shaena had simply hatched a plan all of her own meant to rid her of the pain and prove her point. His sister had loved winning arguments no matter how small.

He, on the other hand, resented every single time she won. If anything, the look on her face bought him to a fury. But it hadn’t been anger lashing at him that once, when he found her trying to rid herself of the babe. Not even shock. It was difficult to be shocked when he’d had plenty of warning. Mostly he recalled feeling sick, so very sick to the depth of his soul. A difficult enough thing to explain on his best of days, the queer feeling taking over one in such moments. As if he’d been plucked out of his own body and set somewhere close without. He could feel himself moving, from somewhere far away sounds abounded. And yet gripping his sister’s hand felt surreal, the scent of blood carrying on the summer breeze.

He never wanted to see something its like again. It wasn’t aught he could share either. Naught anyone else would understand without having been there. “You don’t know her.” She loved their child, of that he was certain. Whether she held him in genuine affecting was a point up for debate, whether she was a woman upon whom one may count remained so as well; yet in his mind her love for the small life they’d created together was unquestionable as certain as stone was hard.

“You never truly know someone,” his kin pointed out in an almost soothing fashion. Daeron stood from his seat, walking so they may stand together. “This is not only about you, brother mine. All of us have some stake.”

None more so than him though. He wanted to point that out, but all he managed was a strangles choking sound, his body very much still with the ghost of sister even as his mind whirled back into the present. A spasm went through his arm as Daeron reached out. “I cannot. If something happens and I am not there once again,” he trailed off. There had been miscarriages in his family before. His mother had suffered some. But at least there one was allowed to truly mourn as they had been the product of gods’ cruelty, not man’s.

“Your brother has the right of it. You cannot control everything.” But he could try. And he was fairly certain he would be met with a great deal of success. If only he could work around the court’s scheming. “Not on your own in any event. Bring the girl to King’s Landing and trust her into the measter’s hands. They are bound to know better than any of us.”

“As well as they knew with my sister.”  It turned out Shaena had been right all along. That thing inside her womb, half-formed and not entirely human would haunt him for the rest of his days. Not only because the mangled little corpse twisted and bent in unnatural ways, but because that creature had been his as well. His child, his son. Bile burned in the back of his throat, the taste nauseating. She swallowed down with difficulty. There was no time for such reminiscing.   

 “Shae was ill. What she did; that was not our sister, but someone else.” It was so much easier to blame it all on a moment of insanity. But Daeron knew just as well what the truth had been. And Rhaegar was not about to allow him to forget. That would be an insult to their sister’s memory.

“You saw it as well. Shaena was right.” As difficult as it was to accept, the twisted creature inside her womb breathed truth into her rants. And he never wished for it to happen again. Anything else came second to preventing a recurrence of that episode.

“Shaena was ill,” their father echoed in a firm voice. “And if anyone is to blame for the outcome, then it is her, not you. It was her words which shaped the babe’s fate and her insistence that poisoned it in her womb.” But how could that be, Rhaegar had wondered and continued to wonder. The maesters had marvelled at the tiny being which had resulted from his sister’s efforts and would have doubtlessly cut it open had they been allowed to.

They had cut her open, in any event, attempting to find anything which might explain the strange pregnancy. There had been naught which gave them pause. Healthy in everything but mind, his sister seemed to have been. Yet could mere thought will something into being? He thought not. “Whatever the case, lord father, such notions must be crushes as soon as they rear their head. A maester who know Lya not at all will not be able to accomplish it.” He could barely get through to her and he suspected the same was true for her old companion.

“Father, might be there is some sense to it,” his brother ventured. “Let us observe this girl, then, and see what comes of it. After all, our fear might well be for naught and all proceed accordingly. Additionally, let us postpone all talks of marriage; best to keep the girl happy, don’t you think?” When their father was no longer looking at him Daeron gently mouthed a most expected message. And it was true; Rhaegar did owe.

Their sire took his time coming to a decision, but it was the correct one in Rhaegar’s estimation. “Your mother will not be dissuaded for long and the Seven only know how we shall keep her from her usual scheming once a few moon turns pass.” He cleared his throat. “Nevertheless, I do not think her choice of bride appropriate, and will continue to oppose the match.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. vi - the wind in the leaves

 

 

 

 

 

 

She woke with a painfully dry throat, choking on the whisper of a breath, panic pressing down upon her. Elbows digging into the mattress, Lyanna attempted to rise. Her wits, and not to mention her balance, did not quite manage to see her through. The arm stretched across her middle did not help matters any either. The inability to escape, however, led to a gradual evening of her breath. Lyanna glanced towards the man sleeping soundly at her side. Eyes closed and muscles relaxed, he seemed quite different from the waking Rhaegar, softer somehow, less daunting, but not less wondrous. She blinked in the low light of the fire and gingerly moved to sit up against the headboard after she’d moved his arm lower.

Glancing down at her lap, she contemplated the last few days. So many arrivals and so many eyes upon her, she could almost pretend her sire and his children were just another few faces adrift in a sea of them. But that was in no way true. The very notion that they slept easily somewhere out there tore at her peace of mind. Her hand pressed to the place where her babe rested, seeking comfort from the one thing which would always be hers. And yet, in the dark, pressing night, it gave her none. Eyes rising to the dancing flames, she took in a shuddering breath.

It worried her, the about-face the queen had done when she learned of the pregnancy. It worried her that Rhaegar’s closest kin had accepted her as they had. And it worried her more than she could say when she felt at peace with them. These people cared none for her; she reminded herself of the fact often enough. And yet her foolish heart longed to be embraced by these people, to belong to some family at long last, instead of being stuck in a limbo, never quite one way or the other. Her unease sharpened into a low pang, the pinch of it settling into her middle rather like a punch. She shuddered violently as a shadow was cast over the wall.

Whatever her actions, they proved enough to stir her lover into wakefulness. She saw his eyes open and felt his arm tighten imperceptibly around her hips, where she’d pushed it. The stare fell upon her, insistent eyes refusing to move away, by way of consequence she was trapped as sure as a hare in the presence of a serpent. At lengths, she rallied and frowned down at him. “Aught the matter?” he questioned, voice thick with sleep, the words gently muddled. In spite of that, his hand was already in motion.

Lyanna shrugged. Tension did not leave her though and soon enough sleep was chased from the Prince’s features. Moving so as to elevate himself by use of his elbow, Rhaegar continued his perusal. “Has it occurred to you, Lya, that in moments such as these words would help tremendously?” She heard him well enough, but knew not what to say when she herself was yet confused.

“There was a pain for a moment.” The confession, however, proved ill-timed. While Lyanna had never extracted the whole story from anyone, she would need to be quite thick not to connect the excessive worry over her health and the strange circumstances of the Princess’ death. Unthinkingly, she had brought to his attention the possibility of another failure. Had she thought he would be so affected, she would have better spoken some inane words. To spare him the worry at least. “Just for a moment. A flutter.”

She reached for his hand and placed it upon the spot where the ghost of pain lingered. The touch lingered. It was neither firm nor heavy, but instead light and careful, soothing in its fashion. “Let me summon the maester,” he urged after a time. Covering his hand with hers she shook her head, adding pressure to her touch.

“All is well with us.” It helped at times to hear her speak of the babe as well. For whatever reason. “The pain has all but disappeared.” Briefly, a struggle ensured between his will and hers. She won by a narrow margin and only because she pointed out that the maester had seen her once earlier in the day and pronounced her hale and hearty. To her own end, she continued in much the same vein, seeking to drive away his unrelenting concern. “Have I not pledged to tell you should aught be amiss?”

“So you have.” Thinking better of her actions, Lyanna saw herself into a lying position, tugging Rhaegar along with her. He followed easily enough, susceptible as ever to the warmth and comfort of an embrace. But Lyanna did not take that in disgust; she was equally vulnerable to it. “And yet never is aught amiss with you.”

Considering her options, she pressed harder into his side. “Might be there is.” She would tell him, she decided, once she had had her vengeance. Yet in order to do so, she must first reduce her plans in scope if she hoped to achieve it by her own power, for much as she might delight in delivering a finishing blow to her sire’s legacy, it would be beyond foolish to stretch her luck any further than she had done up until that point. The time for planning was past. ‘Twas time to act. “But I shall not speak of it now, Your Grace.”   

“Soon?” It was not truly a question. Lyanna agreed to the implied order though she was well aware his patience was at an end, or very near it to as to make little enough difference. Turning her head ever so gently, she faced him before speaking once more.

“Will that please you then?” If she gained his trust, she would implicitly get all the more power over him. More than she had at the moment and more than she’d have were she to keep silent upon the matter before he wed his mother’s choice of bride. For the moment, she held the most powerful card between her fingers. Lyanna thought she heard him answer, yet bade him naught when uncertainty crept in. “It shall have to be soon.” Cipher though her words might be, they both fell back into slumber.

Awakening once more well past the sunrise, Lyanna felt about for her Prince yet found him gone. The tourney, of course, waited for no man; she determined that to be the reason of his leaving as she went about a well-established morning ritual. The corridors were deserted as well when she stepped without and Lyanna found she had naught to do but walk the considerable length of distance between chamber and yard, darting from shaded spot to shaded spot, not from a desire to avoid the heat, but from a wish to keep out of others’ path. It was easier, she found, to breathe freely when not looked upon by countless pairs of eyes, or rather when one could feign ignorance.

She had not been long out when a certain lady put herself into Lyanna’s path. The beauteous Ashara Dayne looked upon her with a mixture of curiosity and contempt. “I see you are all alone.” She smiled, but somehow the twist of her lips was not as pleasant as her beauty ought to make it. It was a cold sort of smile. Lyanna shivered, yet unwilling to show the other such a reaction, she nodded her head. “Then keep company with me. I’ve no one to walk with now.” It was, quite clearly, not company that she was after.

Yet to refuse would be to admit defeat. In spite of her own roiling emotions, Lyanna consented to a walk and was surprised when the woman locked their arms together, her own looping through hers as she bent to whisper conspiratorially, “You wouldn’t believe to what advantage we appear paired off just so.”

“Advantage?” she questioned, looking about discreetly. Few took note of the interaction. Confusion suffused her being and reflected upon her face. “I confess I cannot see it, my lady.” A leading step, much like her brother’s if Lyanna was not much mistaken, set them upon a natural enough circuit. The Dornishwoman offered he explanation with clear, concise words.

“You benefit from my acknowledgement, as much as I benefit from the comparison people will make when they see us together.” Once more she had a smile for Lyanna. “I do not understand what His Grace sees in you, but he must see something whatever the case.” She was being led, she perceived a group of women sat together on a long bench. It was a wooden affair, carried from within the keep by the looks of it. It had been placed beneath the shade of a tall tree.

Amid the cheerfully twittering ladies one stood out. A woman Lyanna knew to be an enemy to her; or at the very least a future competitor. The Dornish Princess, garbed in cheery shades of gold and orange, lifted her hand in a gentle wave. She looked so frail just then, standing with her back to those women who’d paused in their speech.

“Ashara, I knew you would not disappoint me,” the Princess spoke after they’d reached the bench. “You are a very difficult woman to get a hold of, Lya of Winter Town.” Something changed in her voice just then. Not that Lyanna blamed her. She’d been naught but courteous so far and already her petty emotions had engaged her into noting the small deficiencies the Princess presented and amplifying them in her mind. It soothed, to some degree; yet the burn of knowledge could not be wiped away.

Curtsying with as much skill as she could muster under the circumstances, Lyanna answered something vague by manner of reply, the words like lead upon her tongue. Elia Martell had thus far seemed comfortable enough to ignore her and spend whatever time she could with Rhaegar in the presence of the Queen. She’d resented those moments, of course Lyanna had, and yet she dared not speak against his going, for he did so to please his lady mother. And yet bonds had formed for less, her mind reminded her all too often.

“Come then and sit by me.” Lyanna obliged, trying not to allow the stare of the other woman to affect her. At least with men, it was interest, curiosity and at times lust; those were so easy to understand, so easily satisfied as well. Women were of a different nature altogether, both in approach and method. Casting her gaze to her lap, Lyanna listened for the words to come. “I noticed the colour of your kyrtle; it is such a soothing shade.” A hand, long-fingered and elegant, touched the folds of her skirts. “And yet, in the sunlight you looked so wan that I thought for a moment you might be ill.”

“The babe makes me ill every now and again, I confess,” Lyanna offered in repartee, not unwilling to needle the woman as much as she was being annoyed. “But this morning I feel fine. Still and all, not all of us may look as well as you, my Princess.”

“Tell me,” her collocutor continued, apparently not bothered by her rudeness, “what find you needful for a fulfilled life? We ever so rarely hear from the common people, ‘tis easy to forget the burden they carry.”

How she wished to say that she was about as common as was chest of precious gems in the middle of the road. Why the little upstart; she thought that just because her ancestor had managed to cross a sea and have men die in her name she was not at all common. “Our needs are simple, my Princess; we wish but some food to assuage our hunger and a kind master to oversee out toil and I daresay most common man should live very pleasant lives in such conditions.” She had not answered the question, she perceived, as the Princess would have wished.

“It is good when people know their place,” the other woman commented, the pensive quality of her voice deepening as she continued. “One often finds with those lifted from poorer plains that the finery turns not only the head, but the mind. A much more dangerous thing when such a position is not sustainable.” A warm hand came down upon hers. “Why suffer needlessly?”

“Why indeed?” she asked back, looking into the Princess’ face, challenging the woman to be blunt. But that would not happen. Instead, she had to make do with a pitying glance and gentle smile; almost as though the other was taking some pains to revel to her the futility of dreaming for what one could not have. Lyanna knew well enough the thoughts ; she had oft repeated the like to herself. But then she had been free to stay or leave on her own terms. “Your kindness does you credit.”

“I see that I have worried needlessly. These elevated circles have had a beneficial effect upon you. You speak so well.” As though the common man communicated through grunts and shrill yells. Why, Lyanna was surprised she did not perceive her manner of walking to be quite odd; after all, the servile ought to crawl in the dirt, no doubt.

She would not crawl; not for this woman. Not for the King. And not for the gods themselves should they demand it of her. She commented naught to the Princess, remarking only that the shade had chilled her and she should like to walk about some more, if that suited. To which the Dornishwoman seemed pleased to send her off with Ashara in tow, giving the Kingsguard’s sister firm orders to keep Lyanna well. As though she needed the likes of such a creature to care for her.

But Lady Ashara was pleased with her mission and made it her business to familiarise Lyanna with a bit of gossip as they walked together, side by side, to great advantage, as it were. She saw the beauty’s eyes alight on a far off figure as her companion drew her to a halt. Lyanna, obedient in view of so many eyes, checked her step. She craned her neck for a better look at what Lady Ashara observed.

A small ways away, a young woman watched them back. Lyanna thought she recognised the pattern sewn into her skirts. A Frey, she decided, eyeing the towers bracketing her from waist to ankle. “So she had come,” the Dornishwoman by her side remarked. “A rather hardier creature than one would think.”

The young Frey’s eyes narrowed and she looked about to turn around when Ashara tugged Lyanna along with her towards her prey. “Lady Tyta, I see you are all alone. Has your betrothed forsaken you so soon?” A devilish grin followed. “Or were you might be hoping my brother would pass by and offer to alleviate your loneliness?”

Dark eyes widened, a healthy blush bloomed to vibrant life and the Frey kinswoman let out an indignant huff. “If you would but turn your attention away from me now, my lady, I should be very grateful indeed. There is no need for us to do more but acknowledge one another, is there?”

“Come now; I have brought you something.” Lyanna allowed herself to be pressed forth, towards the current object of scorn. “This, Lady Tyta, is Lya; she and my brother are often in company.” Lower lip trembling, Lady Tyta set her face into placid neutrality and nodded towards Lyanna.

“Not quite as oft as you suggest, my lady,” Lyanna contradicted those earlier words meant to stab at soft, tender feelings. “Naturally, Ser Dayne must follow the Prince’s dictates.” It was an ungainly bit of mischief; so very ill-planned and ill-delivered that it could not even be taken as a jest. “Pray; I grow fatigued. I believe I shall retreat for the time being.” This she was allowed only after further insisting that she was quite done for and wished to return to her chambers. She perceived that if she were to remain, it was to Lady Ashara’s company that she must yield and that Lyanna had little wish to do.

There was something about the way in which the woman spoke, as though she was quite right to scorn those around her; unhappy for whatever reason as she was. Lyanna did not pretend to understand the inner workings of such a woman. She knew, though, that courting such company could only imbalance her own humours. Escaping further discomfiture but narrowly, she hurried herself back to the safety of the keep, taking the stairs two by two though she knew that should any personage of import see her, she would hear no end of observations from Rhaegar. He so hated it when she exposed herself to the potential danger.

It was just her luck, as she made the final jump from the last stairs to the first floor that she would run into one such man. The younger Prince caught her by the waist to steady her and tsked softly. “What would my brother say to see you thus, Mistress Lya?” She could not help comparing the two whenever he appeared; so alike, yet so different.

“Why he should say that I am not to leave his side that he may batter watch me.” The pert answer elicited the desired chuckle, levity unfurling. “Yet let me not hold your path, Your Grace.”

“Not at all. As it happens my brother did wish your presence.” People would be gathering in the stands soon. Lyanna pointed that out. “And so they should, the tourney is meant to be watched. And Rhaegar would have you enjoy it along with all others.” Taking her by the arm, he led her away, back down the stairs and into the gathering crowd. By his manner not paying mind to the onlookers, the Prince helped her to his brother’s side, seating her in a chair she knew was supposed to be his, for on the other side, by the Queen sat Princess Elia. Prince Daeron excuse himself, claiming he should better like to sit in the lower stands.

Leaning slightly to the side, Rhaegar asked after her prolonged absence. “I thought some ill-fate befell you; to be so long in coming. Did I not say you ought not to frighten me so?” She nodded absently, catching sight of the same Frey girl Lady Ashara had taunted. She watched back, yet her attention was somewhere behind Lyanna; Ser Arthur must have been standing there.

A Frey, and a woman of no great beauty, Lyanna contemplated, tracing the girl’s features with care. But who was she to bestow pity on other when her own heart came threateningly close to breaking. She looked to Rhaegar who watched the herald with attention, taken, it seemed, with the proceedings of the joust. Smothering a sigh she peeled her gaze away from him and thought that in spite of all her cautioning, she’d ended precisely where she thought she wouldn’t. It seemed that even the knowledge she stood but little chance was not enough for her foolish heart to quit its affections.

The heart she’d laid at his feet was all she had to give him in the end and that was, while precious in the eyes of one man, not enough in the eyes of the realm. Jenny of Oldstones had loved her Duncan and he her, and yet the realm still bled from the effects of their romance. A woman of no rank and no power to begin with could only cleave some from those around her. In time, he would resent the trouble she caused him, the lost opportunities and denied alliances. Lya, or Lyanna; whichever she was, as matters stood she was not enough.

Fine things she could do without; she only wished it was the finest of them she might live a fulfilled life. But such thoughts would serve her ill. She decided that she would not give more attention to such musing until she might be alone to do them justice. She both longed for and feared the moment. Thus, Lyanna forced her attention to the riders and though her heart was not in it, she watched them for the only other sight her eyes might be drawn to was Rhaegar and him she did not think she could gaze upon too long at the moment without falling into despondency. And then, her mummery had never been particularly complex before, nor could she act afterwards as though naught were amiss.

Time passed as it was wont to do until naught was left but splintered lances and the faint impressions of hooves scaring the once pristine tracks. She almost did not notice when Rhaegar called her name. Startled by the sound of his voice, she jumped. “Lya, what are you dreaming of now?” he questioned gently, faint traces of amusement threading the words. “Let us be on our way.”

Silently assenting, she granted him her hand and moved in time with his motions. She would have kept at it too had she not seen the sight of her sire, second son in tow, approaching. Stopped short, she felt tension take hold. Rhaegar must have felt it too for he paused to give her a brief look, then following his own silent counsel greeted the father and son. Words were exchanged; Lyanna knew not what was said. She was much too preoccupied with glaring a whole through those two. More than anything, she wished she might speak the truth before all.

Force of habit kept her lips sealed. But men, as was their wont, had a mind to discuss all other matters which held none of her attention. If Rhaegar had any notion of her inner turmoil, he gave none of it away. In any event, Lord Stark addressed her not and his second-born only now and again glanced her way as though to determine whether she was a being of flesh and blood or some figment of his imagination. She spied about for the eldest brother yet found him not at all. Having seen his name on the lists, she knew he had to be somewhere about Lord Whent’s grounds.

“I was wondering, “ Eddard Stark interrupted his betters at a point, “if you, Your Grace, would allow your Lya to walk a space with me. I find I cannot sit still and should dearly love some company.” Something akin to interest sparked in Rhaegar’s eyes, but he allowed them to be off with a playful warning to Lya that she behave.

Since it was his wish that she go, and he’d not asked after her desire, Lyanna found she could but acquiesce. He took her towards a narrow path, to the side of the gardens. He must have felt how stiff she held herself for after they were some distance away he released her and spoke words which surprised her very much indeed. “I have a warning to bestow. Pray, you; listen to my words before you dismiss me altogether. I know I have kept back when I might have intervened and might be ‘twas a grave mistake. Nay, ‘twas a grave mistake indeed.  Alas, the past is set in stone. My brother has taken it into his head to speak to you once more. And I fear he is goaded by many in such a direction.”

“And you have come to warn me.” She shook her head, as though trying to dislodge some stray thought. “Might be I wish for his attention.”

“But you cannot.” He looked genuinely horrified at the possibility. For a brief moment, she thought he might recollect about Lyanna, his sister, and wonder. “And indeed you do not. I have eyes and I see a great deal more than one would credit me with.” Lyanna awaited some further manner of explanation. “My brother is determined; pray warn the Prince if you can. If not, have Ser Arthur by you side.”

“He will be deterred by such a trifle then?” So much for determination. “The warning is much appreciated, but as you guessed, I do not wish his attentions and shall not be too much in his path. Indeed, your kin shall forget I ever existed to begin with.” It cost her little to set his mind at ease and it would go a long way to move his eyes away from her. She looked upon the man with some wistfulness. What manner of brother would he have been? Kind and gentle? What manner of sister would she have been as well? Considerate and loving? Might be not. Might be she would have been like Lady Ashara, a cold, unfeeling girl whose only concern rested in the inherent superiority of her rank and beauty.

A touch and it was gone. She parted from him, eyeing Rhaegar who watched them silently by then. Lord Stark stood to the side; he spoke to one of the Kingsguards. It was time to return. Eddard offered her his arm, a good, strong arm which she relied upon with some relish given the revelations past. She had dithered and tergiversated, promising truths and revenge alike and yet had the stomach for naught.

“I feel though I should settle matters with your kin,” she said after a moment, “and shall put myself into his path this last time, if you would but aid me.” His eyes asked a silent question. She answered hurriedly. “With you there, what could happen?” Understanding dawned; he nodded. “Await then my summon, if you please.”

Eddard, bless his heart, was the manner of man who did not think to question too hard, she saw, by the way he readily agreed to the whole of it. The poor boy might have wondered why a mere mistress assumed such demeanour in his presence, why she spoke fine words and ordered him about. But nay, she saw in him the obliging sort of man a maid might look upon and make use of in her hour of need. Someday, if all went well, she would teach him that only the strong survived.

 But until such a time, Lyanna was well-pleased enough o be back on Rhaegar’s arm. He too seemed to wish her presence, for she felt him tug her away. There was no comment to be made as they broke from the elevated company of their circle, the faint sound of clanking metal following along. Strange how right it felt to just stand there. And the feeling might have lasted were it not broken by reality’s intrusion.

“Rather much in demand, you are, aren’t you, Lya?” She could not like his tone of voice. Lyanna blinked up at him, shrugging her confusion into view. “Brandon Stark and now his brother as well.” He continued walking. “Tell me something, Lya, something about yourself that no one else knows.”

She took her time answering, following along. “I sometimes feel as though I walk through a great shroud of darkness. It’s an all-consumming blackness, stretching from far back to long ahead. Occasionally the dark will be broken by a light.” She drew closer yet to him. “I stand before two such lights. I cannot keep both and yet I cannot make a choice between them either.” He perceived, she saw, that she spoke of them as well.

“You don’t have to choose.” To remain as they were would be just as bad, she thought, as making a choice. Thus she, in a fit of sincere remorse, denied the possibility strongly.

“Would that I might bear it better. I did not mean to cause you trouble and entered our agreement in as good a faith as any woman, and yet to continue in the same vein gives me more pain than I can say. The years are so long and so daunting, stretching out before me.  I pondered and pondered; might be the fault lies with me, but that I shall not explain now.” He opened his mouth, but she interrupted. “Give me until the morrow, Your Grace.”

He yielded with surprising ease.  “Only until the morrow. I take you at your word.” That was just as well. Lyanna breathed in, gathering her courage for what was to come.

“This night, I shall not come to you.” Incredulity painted his features. It was a brazen thing to say, she knew. “I ask a great deal out of Your Grace, I know; yet it is something I must do. Trust me.” It was a risk, that bet of hers; if he did not, if he forbid it, she lost it all, did she not? “Rhaegar, I need to do it. I will tell you all upon my return. I vow it.”

“Where will you be?” That she had not given any thought to. And yet as he asked an idea struck her.

“The weirwood tree.” She begged the gods that it should suffice as proof. “If you wish it, you may send Ser Arthur with me.” It was not a concession she made easily, yet make it she would for him; if only it would ease his mind some.

Instead, however, it seemed to disturb him. “Arthur may bear witness to this, but I may not.” It was not so much a question as it was a soft accusation. It stabbed at her and the pain spread. “Gods help you, Lya, if this is some manner of jest, ‘tis not at all humorous.”

“I could not jest upon such a matter and only thought to put you at ease. I can just as well go alone.” That he overruled, stating that she would take not one, but two Kingsguards with her. There was little point in opposing the edict; what those men learned would reach his ears soon enough as well.

Rhaegar left her there, marching off towards the keep. And she, fool that she was, wished him back; wished she might turn back the hand of time and confess it all. Taking a deep breath, Lyanna crossed the remaining length of grassland until she reached the line of trees. Her hand touched the rough bark, feeling the texture beneath her fingertips as her mind worked through the various possibilities.

“One hopes this is not to be a permanent state of affairs.” She started to hear Ser Arthur speak, yet did not turn to face him. “You know little about men, if you think you have averted some great disaster.”

“You don’t understand a thing, ser.” He did not disagree.

“So I do not; I never pretended to. But Rhaegar is a friend and I could not in good faith consider him so if I allowed him to come to a bad end.” Blinking, she could not help looking at the man over her shoulder. “Whatever your plans, know that I shall act as I think best.”

“If you mean to say that you shall bring all you’ve witnessed to Rhaegar’s ears, I do not mind. In fact, I am glad you should do so.” The man gave a low chuckle. “What is it that you find so very amusing, ser?”

“Does it not occur to you that you would be better served were you to put your trust in the man who shared himself with you and not in someone who you know only just so?” Well, if he would put it like that, she supposed she had but to explain.

“I have to do this on my own; I cannot rely on Rhaegar, or on any other man, indeed. ‘Tis not about who shared my life, but about what I can and must do by my own power. You, of all people, should understand that.” Those last words were spoken without thought and as soon as they’d sprang past her lips she regretted they revealed the depth of her knowledge, for Ser Arthur was unlikely to miss their meaning. If she had come thus far, however, running away would not help matters. “I happened to hear you refused a proffered hand as well. Might be you would think twice before offering advice of the nature.”

As expected, she diverted his attention. “Do you often find yourself listening to conversations which do not concern you?” The knight crossed his arms over his chest, looking a thunderous god out of temper with some supplicant.

“Only when the notion strikes me,” Lyanna answered, impertinent, if he should take offence to so measly a thing. “I understood your lady is to wed.” She thought she saw a slight twitch of his jaw and could not help pressing on. “It is not so easy, is it, when it is out honour that is concerned?”

“Honour? You think I do this for honour?” He shook his head. “It’s a pretty notion, this honour you speak of, but an empty one all the same. My lady stands to obtain a good life, a life she might never have at my side. I would not subject her to a lifetime of taunts and derision, nor can I break with my own kin anymore than I have without falling into dependence.”

“If I loved someone, truly loved them, good ser, the taunts of others would be as naught to me, nor the world’s censure. And as long as they loved me in the same manner, we should be very happy together even with only a blackened crust of break to share between us.” She had seen the poor lady looking at the knight and in such moment was reminded that not only she could feel deeply about those she loved. “Did you even ask the poor lady what she wanted?”

“You are used to the vicious side of life.” Not truly; but then why enlighten him on the matter. It was her business if she had been cheated out of the life that ought to have been hers. “She was born to wealth and privilege; how could I bear to cause her suffering?”

“I am trying to tell you, ser, that no trial is too brutal for the willing heart.” Once more he shook his head and she clenched her teeth as a wave of annoyance crashed over her. “Do you truly think a reduction of rations is like to turn her heart against you? Is she so vapid and heartless a creature then?”   

“She would suffer all without complaint,” he admitted, “and that is even worse. At least if she laid the blame where it belonged, it would not be so bad.” Lyanna realised without too much considering involved that she would get nowhere with the man. He truly thought he held the lady’s best interests at heart; and in some manner he did.

“That girl will suffer tremendously, ser, as you move through life with your untouchable position as shield.” Furrowing her brow, she waited a moment before speaking once more. “You may think she will forget, but women do not forget. It is not in their nature, anymore than it is in men’s. Not when the love is true.”

“Matters are never as simple as we wished them to be.” His comment made her angrier still. He had his share of truth as well and there was little she could say against it. Pursing her lips, she nodded her head.

“I still think it is foolish to deny her without even asking about her heart.” That was as much as she dared say. If Ser Arthur took her advice, she hoped the poor girl might be able to turn him around. The Free Cities should not care too much if a sworn knight took up with some lady and lacked the vows to legitimise it.

“You had best see your way to the keep, elsewise His Grace might just change his mind about this night.” There was naught to say to that; he was refusing further conversation and had let her know as gently as he could.   

She took care of all matters which might aid in smoothing the sailing, as it were. She could only hope Eddard would not abandon her, leave her dangling and rob her of the revenge she could take. He would not; she told herself as much. He was the most feeling of the brothers and he wished to make matters right.  

His Grace, however, seemed determined to ignore her for the moment. Ser Arthur need not have concerned himself with Rhaegar initiating any change of plans. Since there was naught to be done on that account, Lyanna found herself in the company of the younger brother once more. Prince Daeron had a placid smile painted upon his face, as though put there by the gods, so well did it fit him. But a dragon, even smiling, was a danger to all those around him.

“I see you have quarrelled with my brother.” Lyanna gave him a cool look, unwilling to admit to it. “’Tis no use pretending ignorance; I know my brother well enough. I’ve had years of his company, you see.“ She could but frown at that and glance towards Rhaegar, wishing the man might look back at her. “He won’t, you know; look at you, that is. Not when he is mad. The eyes let out too much of the soul, my brother believes.”

“Must you persist in this manner, Your Grace?” she asked at lengths. “Some matters need not hold your attention too long.” The Prince smiled, tapping her shoulder ever so gently.

“Where is the fun in that?” Her frown turned into a grimace. “But I do see that you and my brother are well-matched; if you could, I do not doubt you should very much like to live on your own in some tower isolated from the rest of the world.” That sounded like heaven to her. Still and all, she challenged the man’s words with a contemptuous look, daring him to persist. “Nay? Have I read you wrong?”

“You ought not to read me at all.” One man’s attention was enough and unfortunately for the younger Prince, she had made her choice long before meeting him, and if not all that long then in such decided a manner so as to make no difference. “I cannot be an edifying lecture, nor should I wish to be a merely amusing one. So you see, Your Grace, your eyes should avert to some other book, if you please.”

He had a grin for her by that point and did not hesitate in his reply, “But other books interest me none and if I cannot reveal the mysteries of the one I so desire to explore, I do not know that I can trust its lessons.”

“That is not for you to decide, Your Grace. You know that, I believe.” He nodded, but did not seem prepare to give up. Thus Lyanna surmised when he continued in much the same vein.

“Many matters are not any of our business in this life and yet we give them our attention.” He too paused for but a moment, in order to better look at his brother who was speaking quietly to their lady mother. It did not seem to her a pleasant discussion, yet she dared not leave Prince Daeron’s and approach the two. “So then, Lya, what say you of Princess Elia?”

“What would you have me say, Your Grace?” she questioned coyly enough. As matters stood at that point, she could not speak her feelings anymore than she could join Rhaegar. “I shall bow to your desire in this.”

“Not at all; I would not dream of influencing you in this. You have spent time with the woman; how did you find her?” Might be he was bored. Might be he had no one else to talk to; no one who would amuse him.

“I found her a pleasant sort of woman; courteous and kind.” And if that was not quite the truth, if her ears had picked up some scorn, she would not betray it.

“Indeed she is; and so very obliging.” Insofar as she wished to be, Lyanna had no doubt. “My brother seems to be warming to mother’s plans.” Did he? Lyanna glanced down at her lap; he would delay it for a time yet, she knew for he spoke little of the Princess in her presence. “For all that, kind as the lady is, I cannot help but wonder what you shall do once the vows are spoken.”

“I fear, Your Grace, I have no knowledge of what I should be doing other than remaining as I have been up until that point.” She shrugged at his curious look. “Unless His Grace no longer has need of me; as I said, that must come from him.” The younger Prince made a humming sound in the back of his throat and gave a nod.

“What a great thing it must be, to be so very decided in one’s course.” It seemed a teasing sort of remark, as though he laughed at her behind his placid mask. Lyanna bit her lower lip in annoyance, ordering herself sharply enough to not answer. He wanted to rile her, like a child with a toy he could not quite figure out. “And so tell me, how much do you know about my sister?”

That surprised her. “Not much; I know only that she was a kind, joyful girl when last I saw her.” Prince Daeron showed his interest, thus she continued. “I was a child myself then. She wished some flowers from me and her brother obliged by picking a few out for her.” Lyanna sighed softly. “I never thought her life would be so very short. The poor thing.”

“My sister would not like to be spoken thusly of.” She asked after his meaning. “Much like you, she was a stubborn sort of creature, bent on her own path in spite of what others might say. In spite of what Rhaegar did say over and over again.” Again, a smile moved about his lips, fleeting. “Indeed, you remind me much of her. She did so like her own cleverness and would not allow any other to guide her, save every now and again, the keep’s maester. Him you have no met; but you shall, I do not doubt, in King’s Landing.”

Would she? Lyanna did not give the notion too much thought for she was too caught in the newly revealed mystery. “Did His Grace despair of the Princess then?” she asked after a brief moment. And yet when he did speak of his first wife, it was in a soft, thoughtful manner, as though he was not quite done digesting the small details of their life together.

“He was vexed with her often enough, for she was, in her own fashion, determined to have her own way, as I said, and cared little enough for consequences. Those two could certainly argue like no other; none of them is used to giving in.” That she could well believe. Lyanna eyes her lover and saw that he too looked at her. At long last. It was her eyes which asked for the understanding her lips dared not beg.

He seemed to consider her before he relented and called her over. Jumping at the chance, she hurried across the length of the chamber, occupying her spot by his side, hands on his arm. “What a strange creature you are,” he commented but a moment later. “I hardly know what to make of you.”

“Soon enough you shall,” Lyanna promised, leaning into him, not caring about the attention they attracted.

“Soon I shall,” he agreed, repeating the sentiment for good measure. “But do I truly wish to. You make me wonder.”       

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand, that's the end if this chapter, folks. I think one or two more chapters and we can wrap this up. Sound good?


	7. vii - the dust from our bones

 

 

 

 

 

 

Deceptive sweetness played upon his tongue until it dissolved into a burning sting sliding down his throat. Rhaegar put down his cup, glancing towards his younger brother who was still smiling in that indulgent manner of his. “If you wish to speak, speak.” A moment passed, long enough for his sibling to shift into his seat and break eye contact. Floorboards creaked as weight shifted upon their length. Wooden legs touched the ground.  

“’Tis not you that keeps me silent.” Daeron took his time reaching for his own cup. Tendrils of steam climbed over the edge of the cup before dispersing into the cool chamber. “Or rather it is; but not in the way you might wish. There are times when I wonder what goes on in that head of yours.” Somewhere in the distance voices rose, the cacophony intrusive. “Have you considered following?”

It wasn’t that he did not wish it. “She has two Kingsguards with her. That should be enough to keep her safe.” Without someone was walking the hallways, the sound of footfalls loud enough to penetrate wood and stone alike.

Daeron chuckled and stood at long last. He moved away from the table, pacing from one end of the chamber to another, his smile dying away. “How odd that you should concern yourself with her safety yet won’t take to the task yourself. Sometimes caring is not enough, brother; you must show it as well.”

“I am not her pet, to come running at the crook of her finger,” he replied resentfully. Dragons might be proud and noble creature, men might well be capable of great deeds, and yet before women, both dragons and men tended to mellow and fall into obedience. “How is that caring in any event? She does not want me there; what is the point of forcing it?”

“The point, my friend, is to see with your own eyes and hear with your own ears; what more could one need?” A fair lot more. Rhaegar did not speak the words. “Whatever goes on with that woman of yours, it is best to know. She’s useless to us if her troubles will drag the house down.” Yet his brother was not in the wrong. “Better yet, get Lord Stark to take proper stock of the situation.”

“Lord Stark?” The questioned drifted in the space between them, gaining weight by the moment of disturbed silence it engendered. Daeron scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest, coming to a halt in front of him.

“Lord Stark; Lya’s sire.” The younger dragon grinned, baring his teeth. “If you say you’ve not taken notice of the resemblance, I shan’t believe you.” He did not suppose he might persist in denying it. Rhaegar shrugged. “A man need not be very close with his illegitimate get, that much is true and yet to abandon them altogether risks severe condemnation. I say we allow Lord Stark a chance to redeem himself.”

“I have broached the subject already. Some things you cannot force.” Although he expected he might appeal to the man’s conscience and if not to his standing; still, would Lya accept anything from the man given in overt fashion after so long a time? Were Rhaegar in her place, he knew he’s spit upon any offering and turn his back on the whole affair. ”How much strong is your desire to know, Daeron?”

“Less than yours I reckon. Now then, shall I summon Lord Stark, or would you rather have him escorted to the weirwood?” He chose the weirwood for the very simple reason that it would waste less time and instructed his brother to see to it, which Daeron was more than willing to do. “Remeber, you must see and hear for yourself.”

“I am not a child unable to help himself.” His curiosity might be great, but there was something more important at stake. “Make certain father waits up for us; I must speak to him.” Should Daeron wish to know about the nature of the conversation Rhaegar had in mind, he might have worried. But he was not privy to all of Rhaegar’s intentions thus took off to do his bidding,

In the meantime, Rhaegar took care to arm himself. Trust in the abilities of the Kingsguards aside, some things a man had to do himself. Lord Stark he met in the courtyard. Clearly the situation had not been explained to the man for he attempted to learn the reason for which he had been summoned.

“Your Grace, the hour is late. One should wonder to see us together.” The man rubbed his hands together, the gloves he wore doing a marvellous job of hiding his hands in the veil of darkness about them, though the movement was still perceptible following the line of his arm. In any event, the Northerner lord had cause to worry and Rhaegar would not set him at ease, not until he had what he wished.

“Unfortunately nature rarely bends to our desires, Lord Stark, and so we must follow it, rather than the other way around; the hour will continue to be late, but that which I wish us to discuss suits such a setting moreso than not.” Ser Darry, standing behind them and until that point quiet, intervened to announce the horses had been brought from the stables. “And so, my lord, mount and let us be off. All will be made clear soon enough.”

And so, they were off, the three of them. Wisely, Lord Stark kept silent as they rode through the darkness with but ne torch to light the way. It was Rhaegar’s hope that whatever went on between the protagonists of the night’s mummery, all mummers would be too caught up in their role to take note of a lone, flickering torch. That and the thick blackness would likely not allow the light to penetrate if they did not get too close. It was to be hoped the matter would be resolved with haste, if not with grace.

They drew to a halt near the clearing housing the old scarred weirwood with its distorted face and sagging limbs under the weight of its blood-coloured crown. They dismounted, leaving the horses with Ser Darry. The distance was small and voices, raised in belligerent clash, cut through the stillness of the night. What Rhaegar had not expected was that the voice would not belong to Lya, knowing her for the passionate creature she was.

Blood ran cold as an unfamiliar booming voice leaps over words in a commanding manner. “Nice and slow now. Move an inch and I cut her pretty face to ribbons.”

Someone scoffed. “Hiding behind a woman’s skirts; you should be ashamed of yourself.” That had been Brandon Stark. “In any event, she’s of no value to you, let her loose.”

“You seem to have an entirely wrong view of wenches; they’re frightening creatures, made doubly dangerous by their delicate appearance.” The cold slowly leeched away. He’d expected some confrontation and it seemed he’d be getting more than he bargained for. Something moved to the side, undergrowth rustling. He looked, somewhat surprised to see Arthur there.

His friend moved from the shadows, holding one hand up. He signalled in a series of short gestures that the enemies were not numerous. Four of them in all. Then questioned by manner of similar fashion whether they should attack or wait a moment longer. He, of course, wanted to crush the skull of the man who held Lya and wished to do so immediately. And yet to do so was to expose her to more danger.

He elected to wait. Lord Stark, uneasy at his side, looked like a man who’d seen a ghost. His skin glowed pale in the low light of a waning moon and his eyes held a certain quality, as though disturbed. “Go back as quickly as you can. Bring Ser Darry.” The man opened his mouth, eyes hardening into a mute protest and yet as Rhaegar took him by the shoulder and turned him around, he went.

Turning his gaze to the other side, he just about made out Whent. The man gave a small nod, moving deeper into the shadow and thereby closer to the scene of interest. Rhaegar followed. If he could determine her position, he was certain he might devise some way to extricate her from the embrace of danger.

Thankfully, the nearer they drew, the easier it became for him to see. Lya was indeed held captive, the point of what looked to be a sharp blade pressed against her gently trembling throat ". On the ground, tied together were Lord Stark’s sons, the eldest of whom snarled up at woman standing over them. He had lost a few bits of their conversation.

“And yet I thought I heard her speak of kinship.” The blade lowered, not enough to put the girl entirely out of danger. It rested precariously at her collarbone, barely touching the carefully embroidered cloth covering her. “Of course, if your sire refuses to pay for her freedom, I could always keep her. What do you say?” That question was clearly addressed to the captive, to which his Lya bit out a curse. “Or I could give her to the men.”

“She is no sister of mine,” the eldest Stark insisted. “A lowborn creature like her; she’s only good for one thing in any event and I would not touch her if I were you.” The leader, for he seemed to be that, cocked his head to the side.

“They say that Starks have ice running through their veins, but I see ‘tis only water.” The knife dipped lower, tip catching into the embroidered petal of a rose, slicing it off. The petal drifted to the ground, falling into the tall grass, lost amid the dark stalks. Lya closed her eyes. A sharp stab of fear pierced him, dousing the fire of his earlier conviction. The sooner he had Lya safely away, the easier he’d breathe.

“Please.” Her voice gave him pause just as he was about his hand in wordless command. “Please don’t hurt my babe.” Her hand moved to her abdomen. “Please.” The protective hand fell away but a moment later. Not because of the man, but rather because of Brandon Stark who jumped to his feet, ramming into the woman before him and his brother.

“Stop this instant or I’ll cut her,” the leader warned, shaking Lya as the blade climbed back to its initial position. Unfortunately for him, Lya was as mad as her supposed brother for she dipped down her chin and sank her teeth into her captor’s hand.

Cries mingled as he broke into a run, the chaos of the moment narrowing his entire perception on just one person. Given her rather foolish act or bravery endangering both herself and their child, Rhaegar could not say he was perfectly surprise by the violence with which she was shoved from the man. For his part, he pushed himself into an even faster pace, using his weight to upset his foe’s balance, certain his knights followed close behind. Tackling him to the ground, he minded not the short blade coming his way, too busy lifting his fist so that he may bring it down with utmost force.

Bone crunched and crumbled beneath the force of his blow and blood gushed, both from the nose he had just broken and the wound he sustained as the sharp blade lodged into his shoulder. Yet with his anger roused and so thoroughly engaged in pummelling his enemy into the ground, he took little enough notice until the hilt hindered one of his movements. Eyes lifting he noticed a pair of dusty boot half-obscured by the fall of dark skirts. In the low light even the daintily sewn flowered seemed to take on the colour of charred coal. He paused, fist still raised, and took stock of Lya’s form. She was just lying there, on her side, peaceful, as though in slumber.

Someone touched his shoulder before moving past him. As though in a haze, he saw his truest of friends kneel by his lover’s side, calling out to her. No response came. Again he tried, and Lya remained insensible. And yet again without result. “Your Grace.” The knight looked to him, his expression helpless. “I think,” he trailed off.  

Scrambling off the mass of bloodied flesh, he tugged on the hilt of the blade stuck in his flesh until he’d dislodged it, causing more blood to pour onto his garb even as he moved on uncertainly. In the end his legs gave way, unable to support the weight any longer as the vigour of battle dissipated. On his knees, he reached out to take Lya from Arthur cradling her against his unharmed shoulder. His fingers searched the side of her head, trying to determine whether there was some manner of gash there. And sure enough in due time his fingers encountered a wet, sticky substance.

Laughter rumbled from somewhere behind him. He turned, but his head, unwilling to jostle the precious charge in his arms. Lips curling in distaste, he glared at the man who had come to his senses. “Had I known you’d be here, I would have brought more men.”

He had little to say to that. “You will die.” The promise slithered past his lips. He thought he understood the anger coursing though him, yet it doubled at the look upon the man’s face, as though it were some manner of achievement.

“Aye, that is all your Targaryens know how to do.” Whent, who had taken hold of the man’s collar, gave him a violent shake. “But I die with a glad heart, for I have taken her with me.” He nodded to the pale Lya, shielded by his body.

“Don’t.” That was ser Darry. “Your Grace, leave these evil doers to us. She needs a maester. Heads wounds are a tricky beast.” He knew as much and gave a nod before somehow finding within himself the strength to climb to his feet all the while holding the limp body in his arms. His shoulder throbbed in protest at the further bit of abuse, a sign which he ignored as a horse was brought forth. The man he’d fought continued to babble, his words not making much sense even as he was silenced by a punch to the face. It was Lord Stark’s eldest who had ended the tirade, the look in his eyes fierce as he turned, searching the faces about him until his gaze landed on one in particular. “Your Grace, may the gods give you speed,” he muttered before stepping to the side. Rhaegar allowed Arthur to secure Lya against him before digging his heels into the horse’s flanks, almost not catching the fact that the Northerner lord was being questioned by his sons in no gentle terms.

It was no concern of his, however. The ride back was a blur. He knew at least one other rider hollowed, but as the man kept behind them, Rhaegar was unable to identify him other than to say he was a Kingsguard. Were he pressed to recall any other details, Rhaegar would have been unable to do so. All he knew was the speed of his horse was nowhere near enough as fast as he wished it and every moment lost was a moment in which Lya did not have the care of a maester.

Somehow, however, the ride came to an end, at long last. Lord Whent’s courtyard was not as alive as the woods, but two souls lingered yet. Rhaegar recognised his brother first by dint of use. He barked a sharp order to summon the maester before he took notice of the young woman sitting a few paces back, her skirts fanned out about her. But she was on her feet soon enough, rushing past him. It made sense, he supposed, that Arthur would be the one to follow closest behind him.

Unwilling to shed his burden in spite of repeated entireties from his brother as his wound was finally taken notice of, Rhaegar insisted to see Lya to their chamber, whereupon she was placed on the bed. The commotion had, of course, seen more than one curious lady-in-waiting poking her head in and before long his lady mother moved into the chamber, pushing the men to the side with claims of their general ignorance when it came to the sickbed. The maester was along shortly and Rhaegar was relieved to make do with one of the brighter boys helping the man in his tasks.

His wound was cleaned and bandaged in silence, or relative silence. Daeron’s many attempts to get words out of him failed, even his sire’s questioned remained unanswered, In truth, Rhaegar was too sick to pull into existence the speech which would make sense of the whole situation and much too worried about Lya to wish any moment wasted on explanations.

Unfortunately for him, he was denied any entry to the chamber by his lady mother. Placing herself in the doorway, she told him in no uncertain terms that Lya was being looked after and he would not disrupt the maester if she had anything to say about it. “Word of change will reach you first, I promise.” He might have pushed her aside, he supposed, but his brother was already tugging on his arm gently, leading him away.

“You’re as pale as the dead,” the younger Prince murmured, lading him to his own chamber and seating him before the fire. A cup of wine was placed in his hands. “Drink before I pour it down your throat.” He swallowed about half the content in one breath. “What happened out there?” Daeron stepped to stand in front of him so he might not be ignored. “Brother, what ill fate befell poor Lya?” He wished he’d at least known the name of the man who’d held the knife to her throat, then at least he might know who to blame.

Brushing a hand over his face, he glanced up briefly before his gaze fell back down. “I should have caught her first.” He buried his head in his hands for fear he might start weeping if he did not gain composure.

“Father will sort the matter out.” There was naught to say to that, thus he kept silent, face still hidden away. It was worse than the confusion and hurt of his sister’s betrayal and subsequent departure. “He will punish the villains.” What good would that do? It could not guarantee Lya’s recovery of the babe’s safe delivery after the violent episode. It would not help anymore than it had with his sister.

A light tap on the door forced him to get a grip on his rioting emotions. It was one thing to allow Daeron a glimpse into the depth of his affection for Lya. It would be quite another to entrust either of his parents, or gods forbid a stranger, with like knowledge. Daeron invited whoever stood on the other side of the door within.

To his great surprise, ‘twas neither lady-in-waiting, nor kin that entered, but Eddard Stark, wearing a contrite expression. “Your Grace, pardon the intrusion.” Poor voice, his voice quaked, though whether it was with emotion or fear, Rhaegar could not tell. “I’ve something to speak of.” Rhaegar motioned him within.

Shoulders sagging, the young man crossed the threshold. The door behind him remained open. He looked between the two of them brother, seemingly uncertain of whether he should begin speaking with the presence of the younger Targaryen. ‘Twas a good thing indeed that his kin excused himself, murmuring a few words about how he had some matter to look into. The door closed with a light thud and Lord Stark’s son walked until he was near one of the lancets.  He stood there, hair ruffled by a light breeze.

Young Eddard launched into speech with no preamble. “I thought she was my mother’s daughter. I wanted our brother to know.” How odd; it was certainly not unheard of for a noblewoman to have a natural born child, though Dorne was usually the land out of which such women sprang. And yet the way ‘twas put implied contradiction. It made more sense for their sire to have been the link between them. “But she is my sister. Of all things; my sister.” The frown on the boy’s face deepened.

“Aye; your sister. It does not truly matter by which manner you are brought together, does it?” He mirrored the other’s expression and thought the matter over.

“Your Grace misunderstands. She is my sister. She is Lyanna.” A fist curled tightly. “He’s been lying to us all these years.” Struck dumb by the revelation, Rhaegar pieced together the truth ever so slowly in his own mind. “That aside,” his voice broke, “my sister deserves better.”

“What are you saying?” His thoughts were jumbled, too much so to see whatever it was he was supposed to. A father would not throw out his own child. He could not. Lya, or was it Lyanna, had been living with only an old woman to care for her. Surely, the boy was mistaken.

“I left for but a little time to visit with a neighbouring lord on my father’s request. I came back to a dead sister and my youngest brother labouring under a vicious fever. I never thought to question it. I never even wondered why there were no ravens.” The fist uncurled. “She must have been so frightened. I cannot imagine.”

“Why?” Men of few words that they both were, Rhaegar did not see how his question might be mistaken. But then he changed his mind. “Wait. Say no more. If anyone deserves an explanation, then it is Lya. Lyanna.” If she woke. When she woke, he corrected himself yet again. Rhaegar stood. “I fear I have lingered long enough and have no more time to spare. You may remain here if you wish.”

He left the boy there and made his way to his own bedchamber, pushing past a pleading lady-in-waiting. “Your Grace, Her Majesty will be most displeased.” He cared not for that and indeed his lady mother was quite annoyed to see him when she did turn around. The maester was nowhere to be seen.

“I was just about to come to you,” she whispered, pulling him away from Lya, or rather Lyanna, and her prone form. “She woke but briefly and fell into sleep again. The babe is well though she must be careful from this point forth to avoid further strain.”

“Head wounds are unpredictable.” It was a truth well known. Might be too much so.

“She needs rest. Peace and quiet.” The pressure on his elbow grew.

“I am not leaving this chamber.” As though to prove the point, he extricated himself from the woman’s hold and grabbed a chair which he placed by his lover’s bedside. He took hold of one of her hands, warming the small, cool fingers.

He thought his dame might protest, but she nodded in the end, taking herself off and her ladies with her. A soft promise of return reached him, but he ignored it. The door could be barred. His thumb rubbed circles into the skin of Lyanna’s hand. He knew not how long he sat there before it struck him. She was Lord Stark’s daughter.

She was Lord Stark’s legitimate daughter. He lifted her hand to his lips, blowing hot air upon her digits. “Rest well,” he said quietly. “I will watch over you.” As he should have been doing all along. Replacing her hand upon the furs, he determined his best course was to watch her throughout the remainder of the night.

While falling into slumber was not part of his plan he certainly did not manage to remain quite awake. ‘Twas the low squeaking of the door which woke him with a start and awoke too the throbbing of his wound. Exhaustion and worry had previously dulled the ache. The maester of the keep walked in carrying a small bowl in his hand.

“Your Grace, I must examine her now.” He allowed it but stepped not one foot without the chamber, as he perceived the maester might have wished. Instead, he watched with great interest the proceedings, noting every little movements.

‘Twas the wound on her head which took precedence, being dabbed and cleansed and the wrapped in clean cloth. The maester checked limbs and joints and movements, all the while making a humming noise in the back of his throat. It was a cheery tune. “When she wakes, Your Grace, this concoction I have brought must be fed to her. ‘Tis bitter of taste, but it will give her, thus aught sweet to quell the aftertaste might suit after.”

“When will she come to?” he questioned, moving closer.

“When her body has had enough rest, Your Grace. The poor woman had quite the shock. It would not surprise me if she slept well into the day, what with the state of her. Far not, however, ‘tis oft the way of head wounds. Should she seem unlike herself in those first few moments when she wakes, gentle speech and persistence are marvellous weapons.” A thoughtful look crossed the man’s face. “It might be wise, Your Grace, to limit her exercise in the future, even should she claim an ability for it.”

As to that, Rhaegar was determined to do so in any event. Lya found trouble wherever she went, it seemed, and h had best keep her at his very side if he wished her well. A sigh left his lips as his head fell into a nod. Rhaegar found his way back into his previous seat, allowing the maester to be off.

Daeron came after, bearing drink of strong nature. “She still looks a little pale,” his kin noted unwisely, handing him a cup of wine. Rhaegar set it aside. Dearon stood at his side, eyeing Lya. “Mother says the babe is well.”

“The maester speaks likewise.” He did not know if he believed that yet, but he wished to. “Find me a septon with as much haste as can be managed.” His brother gave him a perplexed look. “Also, I wish you to stand as witness.”

“Are you certain?” It was a great risk, to be sure, what with the knowledge of Lya’s parentage being what it was. And yet to do any differently was to betray not only his heart but the essence of truth; he knew, if no one else did and it was the perfect chance. “Father will be angry. Dorne will be offended. You might lose the throne.”

“It is an ugly uncomfortable chair.” They chuckled together. “You would make a good king,” Rhaegar said after what seemed a long while.

“I never–“ He held one hand up, interrupting his brother. He needed no such assurances from him.

“That I know already, trust you me. If you can manage it, find Arthur as well.” Gods be willing the matter could be settled soon. The sooner, the better in fact; he would rest easier knowing he’d done all that could be done to encourage a positive outcome of the situation.

“Ser Dayne?” He turned a curious eye to his kindred and questioned the reaction. “That Frey girl of his had a lot to say to him. You should have seen her Rhaegar; I was sure she’d cut him down where he stood. Right after she was done looking him over for wounds, that is.”

“And Arthur?” He’d seen his fair share of Lady Tyta, mostly weeping, truth be told. Somehow he could not reconcile her with the description his brother gave.

“I cannot read the man as well as you can, but from what I saw, which was admittedly very little, for he dragged her off before she’d finished half of what she wished to sat, I’d wager, he seemed pleased enough.” Daeron cleared his throat. “According to Ser Whent the girl is still in Ser Dayne’s chamber.”        

“I don’t suppose her family knows yet.” Daeron shook his head vigorously. “In that case, be discreet in summoning him and repeat naught of what you’ve said to me.” Lya would need her own ladies-in-waiting and he expected she would not refuse to aid Dayne. Her heart was good. “And Daeron, if you could keep mother from meddling,” he trailed off.

“Fear not, I’ve just the thing to keep her well occupied. I shall come to you when matters have been arranged satisfactorily.” He nodded to that. “Rhaegar, if you do lose the throne, are you certain it is worth the price?”

‘Twas no small loss and in his heart of hearts he did not wish to give it up. “I know it  goes into good hands, that will be enough on such a score.” He did not look at his brother, electing instead to brush some hair out of Lya’s face, “Did you not say love is meant to be shown?”

“So I did. This was not what I had in mind though. I was thinking you might give her some shiny baubles or some such gesture.” A moment passed before Daeron spoke once more. “You are a stronger man than I could ever possibly hope to be.” He heard the door open and shut.

Only then did Rhaegar rise from his seat and turn around. He barred the door, as he had wished to do before, and paced the floors from one end of the chamber to the other. His pace was slow, deceptively relaxed even. He continued in that manner until a faint moan from the mounds of fur gave him pause. In one breath he was standing by Lya’s side, holding her hand and calling out to her in as soft a manner as he could muster.

“Rhaegar?” The hint of wonder in her voice bothered him; as though he were not supposed to be at her side, she acted much surprised. But then his irritation was forgotten with one leap from her. Arms wrapped tightly around him, a small face burying itself into his shoulder, mindless of the wound which gave a mighty pulse of pain as she pressed into it. A sharp intake of breath from him along with a shudder seemed enough to make her pull back, yet he caught her more firmly and stopped such proceedings.

“I am well,” he insisted twice over even though she spoke not a word, of question or otherwise. Her eyes were closed. “The maester bought aught for you to drink.” She nodded.

Regrettably, they did have to part for him to take the small bowl into possession. He saw Lya hesitate, just a fraction before reaching out one hand for the dish. But before she could ask, he was sitting next to her, holding it to her lips. She accepted the aid, tipping her head back. The relief in her eyes was more than enough to move him and quite speedy in reminding him of the subject he wished to broach to her.

The last drops of liquid were emptied from the bowl. He placed it a small distance away from them and took Lya gently by the shoulders. “Say, if I asked aught of you, would you do it for me?” Without hesitation she nodded, though something in her gaze did not look quite right. Her head moved slightly to the side and then back once more, as though she had wished to catch a glimpse of the world without. “Good. Then wed me.”

Stunned, she stared. “But you are the Crown Prince!” He brushed his lips to hers, once, twice and once more for good measure. When he pulled back, she was silent.

“Would you leave if I were not?” Stung, she huffed before shaking her head, to which he chuckled. “Well, what else could a man think by a reaction such as yours? I know you are not that manner of creature, Lya. And I know it is somewhat selfish of me to expose you to the uncertainty of such a proposition, but you of all women, I thought, would understand my heart.”

Moisture gathered and twin orbs shone with unspent tears. “I am not a good woman, Your Grace. Have you not realise it yet?” Rhaegar did not respond to that, curios as to hr explanation. She did not disappoint. “I wanted the power to hurt those who have hurt me. And I thought surely as you mistress I would have it.” He had guessed as much. The sting was not as potent as he’d imagined because in spite of her words and in spite of her initial reason, he was the man who knew her above all others. And her heart was his as much his was hers. “But then the babe,” she sniffled, clearly losing the fight to keep her tears at bay, “and my conviction was shaken but I still desired vengeance, even if just a little bit. My brothers could have died because of that. My babe could have come to harm.”

“You knew me not at all when you came to me, nor did I know you.” His response was calm, though not calculated. He perceived honeyed words would not soothe her. Thus he chose simple, unadorned truth. “I wanted a child from you, most of all. And when you spoke of the babe, I wanted you heart, or even just a piece of it. It took me time to realise this but the past is gone. We have this moment and, if the gods are kind, the next.” A sharp sob tore from her lips. “Trust me.” It was a plea awaiting answer. The rest would work itself out one way or another. 

He held out his hand, allowing it to rest palm up upon her lap. Her own trembling hand approached slowly, hesitantly, the dance of her shaky digits touching his heart-stopping. She laced their fingers together. “I trust you.” He brought their entwined hands up, placing a gently kiss to her hand.

“I have sent Daeron to fetch a septon.” She nodded. “It is somewhat hasty, but speed is of the essence.”     

“I understand.” Tugging her hand from his, she took a moment to decide where to place it. His arm seemed to be the answer. “Would you hold me for a little while?” It was such an odd plea, so fearful, His heart went out to her and he made no reply by word, but slid beneath the covers with her, arms tugging her into his front.

The warmth around him and the weight in his arms dragged him into dreamless slumber. He knew not whether Lya herself slept, for he could swear he felt her fingers in his hair, combing gently and her lips upon his brow and one of her legs bumping into his. When he woke once more it was to the orange glow of a departing sun and to the faint ache of a sore shoulder. Someone was shaking him. “The door, Rhaegar.”

He stared blearily at Lya until the words finally sunk it. Faint tapping came just as he jumped out of bed and brought himself in short order to the door. He pulled out the bar and opened in. His brother was on the other side. “Took you long enough. They are waiting in my chamber.” He stepped in past Rhaegar and greeted Lya before approaching the bed.

“What are you doing?” he demanded of his kith and kin as the man put his arms about the woman on the bed.

“Now, now brother; you will not hassle your shoulder until the wound is healed.” He was about to protest when a confused and somewhat alarmed Lya questioned his brother about the matter. Daeron, fool that he was, told her in as expedient terms as possible the nature and cause of his wound.

Her shoulders sagged. “Thank the gods you were there.” His own shoulders were relieved of some of their weight. “Well, shall we be on our way?”

As weddings went, it was accomplished with little fuss, much secrecy and more nerves on the part of the bride than on that of the soon-to-be husband. All in all, the whole of the affair seemed to end in the blink of an eye and Rhaegar was, once more, a married man. It almost seemed unreal. And yet he held Lya’s hand, the white ribbon tying their wrists together. It had to be real. His brother clapped a hand upon his back, leaning in to whisper a somewhat lewd joke for which he earned himself a glare and a huff of choked laughter from Lya who responded only that a husband’s privilege must indeed extend that far.

They returned to their own bedchamber whereupon the door was barred to impede intrusion. Lya gave a long sigh before she asked whether she might explain herself at long last. “I wanted you to know from me.” He would have allowed it that very moment, but then he recalled there were others who knew might be more.

“It is not I who needs an explanation, wife, but you. Let me summon your sire upon the morrow.” Her lower lip was tugged by sharp teeth. “We will do as you wish.”

“I never fully understood it myself.” Lya fell back upon the bed, turning on her side. “Summon him upon the morrow then.”

Her agreement secured, Rhaegar allowed her to drift off into the land of dreams, trying not to be concerned at the fact that she required so much sleep. The maester had indicated, after all, she would need time to recover. For his own part, there were scrolls to read and a plan to create. His sire at the very least would need to be made aware of his actions. He passed the night in thought. Rhaegar did not sleep at all, staying up to see the sunrise. His mind made up, he left Lya to her slumber and made his way to his father’s bedchamber.

The King, not much for sleep himself, was only too glad to have the company. Rhaegar waited very little to come to the heart of the matter. He laid out his reasons along with his reasoning and hoped it would be enough. His father, very much able to sit back and listen when it so suited him, took the details in with wonder and not a small amount of visibly muted wrath. Whether for his daring or for the fact the truth had been hidden from them, he could not tell.

“If Lord Stark acknowledges the girl, it is an alliance.” Bringing his fingers together in a gesture reminiscent of prayer, his father continued. “It was a thoughtless thing to do. But since you have gone through with it, I suppose we shall have to make do.”

The matter settled, Rhaegar arranged for his erstwhile request to be carried out. Lord Stark, whom h had wished to confront upon the night of the attack even, hastened to respond, seeming himself eager to offer some manner of explanation. One had to wonder as to why. But then his concern was for Lya. Lyanna, he supposed he ought to grow used to calling her Lyanna.

Upon returning to the bedchamber, he found her seated near the window. A soft wind blew within, tugging on a few loose strands of hair. She greeted him with a smile and a slightly questioning glance. “He shall be here soon.” She nodded.

Lord Stark came, certainly enough, bringing naught with him but his own person. He was followed within by a stern looking Arthur. Lya, he observed, did not turn to look at her sire. Her profile was visible to him though. The man cleared his throat, but even so she disregarded his presence.

“You may begin whenever you are ready, my lord; we are listening,” Rhaegar intervened, fearing the emotions of the moment had overwhelmed his bride.  He saw a nod answer him and Lord Stark took a seat the further possibly away from his daughter.

“There is a prophecy passed down from father to son down the line of House Stark. According to it, any daughter borne to the lord of the manor will bright naught but destruction to the house and ultimately drive any heir to his death.” A moment of silence followed. “My wife and I, we’d two sons; I’d not had a sister myself and a few generations before, as far as I’d heard, the daughters died young. We thought, foolishly, that there would be no daughters.”

Rhaegar frowned. There was no denying women could sometimes stand as reason for conflict. He did not interrupt, however. Such was the tale, he felt uncomfortable enough just listening in on it. “And then a daughter came. Lyarra was distraught. She thought her sons would die; she screamed and cried fit to bring the house down and it took whole moon turns to convince her a babe was just a babe.” The older man swallowed convulsively. “For a time she quietened.  She even seemed to take to our daughter, Lyanna. And then Ned fell off his pony, trying to avoid a tottering sister and our third son caught a fever and the whole night terror began once more.”

Again a brief silence ensued. Rhaegar looked away from the man whose expression was unbearable. “I found Lyarra standing over her bed with a knife in hand.” He looked to Lyanna then, to the tears streaming down her face and her tightly clenched lips. “How is one supposed to choose between wife and child?” Rhaegar closed his eyes, head falling in a silent nod.

“You were my father.” It came out as a broken little sob tearing at the more than just one heart. “You were supposed to protect me.”

“Looking into the record kept at Winterfell, a lot of daughter of the main line died young; when they did not there were wars and famines and plagues. Lyarra would have plunged that knife in; might be not the following day, might be not even for some years, but caring for children is the province of women and short of tearing my house and home apart, I saw little recourse. Nan I trusted to guard my daughter, with her life if necessary. And she would be away from the danger, yet close enough to watch.” It was a punch, the entire tale; it hurt even more because Rhaegar understood the man. He’d been fully prepared to offer Lya, Lyanna, the man’s life if she should wish it. But how could he?

What man would be able to make such a choice? A stronger man than either of them, Rhaegar supposed. Lyanna, he forced himself to acknowledge, spoke once more. “What use is it to live one’s life as a lie?”

“Lord Stark,” he cut in lest the situation devolve further, “you might well be torn between wife and daughter; but I am not. The North may yet profit from this whole matter, should you acknowledge your daughter now.”

“The grave is empty. It would be no difficult matter.” Lya said not one word, but turned her face fully away. “If that is what Lyanna wishes for.”

She did not turn around. “I shall do as His Grace desires.”

Rhaegar settled the matter for her, not because he feared she did not wish it, but because h feared she was not yet open to the possibility. Whether she chose to delve further into the matter, he left up to her; yet he would maintain a path for her should she ever wish it. “My wife is a true daughter of the North; one should not hide the truth.”

Left alone, he approached her. “Lyanna, will you not look at me?” She was sobbing quietly. His hand fell upon her shoulder.

“This is the first time you’ve called me that.” It was. He turned her around gently. Stepping back, he looked into her face, cocking his head to the side. She’d assumed the same position from before, when her father had first entered. He reached out. “What are you doing?” Her right eyes was covered by a gently touch. “Rhaegar?” He moved his hand in front of the eye left open. It did not react. Or rather, not to his hand. It moved in arbitrary motions.

“Why?” He was not angry, but only slightly disappointed.

“The maester said it might mend. There are shadows sometimes.” He pulled his hand away, restoring the bit of her vision he could. “And if not, I am not completely helpless.” A flush heated her cheeks. “I hoped it would come back before you ever learned of it.”

“That seems to be the pattern of our dance.” She winced. “Did you even see his face?”

“I couldn’t look at it. I couldn’t.” Her hands were upon her lap, curled into fists. “I was so afraid of what I would see there.” Cupping one of her cheeks, Rhaegar leaned in; he placed a kiss to the top of her head. She spoke, “I don’t want to forgive him.” It was a perfectly petulant answer; a perfectly understandable answer.

He pulled her out of her seat, walking her ever so slowly out of the wind’s reach. “The past may be gone, but it leaves scars.” He seated her nearer the fire. Tears fell. He let them. Lyanna, it somehow felt more right to think of her as such in the wake of the past revelations, leaned against his shoulder, the one not bearing the brunt of a vicious stab. “If you do not wish it, we shan’t see him.”

“I want a family. My family. I want someone who will never throw me away.” Rhaegar looked to the ceiling, contemplating the response he had in mind. She’d been so deeply hurt by the method of her father’s protection, he dared say the reasoning had lost all importance for her. And yet she had to be made to understand. For her own good; for her own heart that should not be strained under the weight of such beliefs as she held.

“Shaena killed our child.” He felt her stiffen at his side. Rhaegar continued. “She was certain it was no babe but some manner of monster. I tried reasoning with her, I attempted to have the maesters explain it to her. Even our sire told her. She would have none of it.”  Unable to look her in the eyes as he revealed to her the whole of it, it was all Rhaegar could do to go on, “She did all in her power to cause the babe to be expelled from her body. And she succeeded. My sister went into labour. And she gave birth.” Something lodged in his throat.

A warm hand touched his cheek. “The babe?”

“It wasn’t precisely a babe. I’d never seen its like.” A shuddering breath entered his lungs. “There is no guarantee that those things which should bring us happiness will fulfil that promise.” He placed his own hand over hers. “Were I put in the same situation again, however, I would choose the same. I do not know whether that life she carried would have come out as a monster. I know not even if there should be anything remotely human about it. But she was determined to kill it and she went down with it. Isn’t that the most tragic thing of all? No one needed to die.”

“I cannot make a decision at this moment.” He understood that and nodded accordingly. “Might be after matters have settled a bit. Right now, I wish to think of naught else but our child.” She tugged her hand from under his and grabbed at his wrist. She placed his hand upon her swollen abdomen and then put hers over his. “I hope our son will be as wise as his father one day.”

“It could be a daughter.” He should like a daughter, he thought. A daughter with her mother’s indomitable nature; he smiled at the thought.

“’Tis  a son.” He did not contradict her.

“As long as the child is in good health.” He finally looked at her. She was nodding her head and had a small smile upon her lips.

   

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. The End.
> 
> Okay, so I hope this is good enough because Lord did I have trouble with this ending. So many paths, so much dilemma.


End file.
